hondo

Robbing Peter to pay Paul, or something like that

2012-02-11T12:04:00.004-06:00

At the beginning of each month, Andrew sits down with the new school lunch schedule and circles the ones he wants to eat and crosses out the ones he doesn't. Those big X marks translate to the desire for a sack lunch.

School lunch is $2.25, and while I know that I can prepare him a sandwich, fruit and yogurt from home for less, I have to admit that when we encounter a week with multiple X marks across the lunch calendar a part of me winces. School lunch is easier - for me - than packing a lunch. And, at my core, I'm pretty lazy. Most mornings the prospect of spending $2.25 for him to eat a hot lunch and drink a little carton of milk seems like a good trade.

When his lunch account balance dips below $4.50, the school district sends me a little love note reminding me that it's time to add money to his card. I got that call this week and when I logged in to make a deposit, I noticed that his balance available seemed like an odd amount. I went ahead and added what should be approximately three months worth of lunch money and then, just on a whim, went to look at his transaction history.

Imagine my surprise to see that there has been hardly a day in the last two months when his lunch transaction DIDN'T include either an extra side, typically in the form of an extra roll with butter, or an extra milk. I can get on board with a roll and butter and it's hard to argue with the extra milk. However, the extra ENTREE he's been adding to his tab? Well, now; those are adding up with their alarming frequency.

This probably explains why his pants are all too short. Looks like it's time to do more early-morning lunch packing so we can save our pennies for new clothes.

It works

2012-01-26T20:13:00.001-06:00

The boys were at my parents’ house earlier this week and my mom found an old science riddle book that they (all) found entertaining. She read them nearly every question in the book, which were all science-based in some way, and most also had some little play on words or funny pun worked into them.

Thomas was really into it and really wanted to be able to come up with an answer. He was as eager a student as he knows how to be and was going with the premise that if he tossed out a bunch of answers, it improved his chances of one sticking. Andrew was less interested in tossing out just any answer and was thinking with furrowed brow about his responses, priding himself more on accuracy. That’s why his reaction when Grandma posed this riddle was so funny to me:

“What has six legs and flies south for the winter?”

Without hesitation Andrew said, confidently, in a way only he can, “Three geese!”

STYLE POINTS, FOR THE WIN.

p.s. the answer is Monarch butterfly…

An apology

2012-01-21T08:37:00.003-06:00

Dear Mark,
I recently mentioned here that you had a man cold and that it was debilitating you. I was using your sickness for attempted humor. Now that I have contracted the man cold I can clearly see the difference. It's bad. I am sorry. As soon as my speaking voice returns, we'll get a good laugh out of this video.

Love,
Susan

Starting where I am

2012-01-13T18:02:00.001-06:00

We’re 13 days into 2012 and for 10 of those I have been meaning to update the ol’ blog site with a well-crafted post. I need (want) to write about our holiday celebrations that were replete with family and fun. I need to document our amazing post-Christmas vacation to the happiest place on earth with dozens of photos that should really be narrated before I forget the details (and the hilarity) that can surround a traveling party of 10. We truly had so much fun.

However, as my wise mother-in-law recently reminded me, “Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” I also recently read that the best way to move forward is to just start where you are. How profound. So, here we are.

Since we returned from Florida we’ve been embroiled in Life. We re-acclimated to school and work, which was easier for the kids than me, and we’ve also been running an infirmary.Our sweet Madeline dog had a spleenectomy last week to get things rolling and since she came home we’ve been busy keeping her off the stairs while she heals. That’s a full-time job because her interest in said stairs has quadrupled since they’ve been taboo. We heard from the veterinarian today that the tumors they removed defied the laws of probability and were benign. We feel good about electing to have the surgery and when the kids want to know why their college accounts aren’t fully-funded we’ll remind them about the extra years we bought with the best last dog we've ever owned. (I jest, I jest. We love her and are very pleased that she seems to feel better than she has in months.)

Last Saturday at 9 p.m., when the kids should have been in bed as I was wrote a brilliant trip recap, I was instead watching Chopped and the boys were roughhousing in the basement. They were fighting over a football and were in a standoff on opposite sides of a chair. At the exact moment I opened my mouth to intervene, Thomas surprised his brother by making a move toward him over the chair instead of around it. Andrew, of lightning quick reflexes, flew out from around the chair and had almost escaped his brother’s grasp when he thwacked his foot on a corner of the wall. Hard. We then got to have one of those parenting moments where we make a decision without speaking out loud to one another. That decision was, “sure looks gotched but we’re not taking a kid to the ER for a gotched toe on a Saturday night.” That’s when we sent him to bed with some ice and a dose of Motrin.

By Sunday morning it looked worse so I consulted facebook. Facebook told me that there’s no reason to take a kid to a doctor for a broken toe because “they” “never” do anything for a broken toe. When he spent the entire day on the couch with it elevated we knew something might actually be wrong, however, and decided that we couldn’t even bear to buddy tape them because it was obviously out of line and we suspected that maybe it was just jammed but didn’t want to make it worse.

So, on Monday morning, right after he delivered me home from having four wisdom teeth extracted, Mark took him to the doctor. She ordered an x-ray and Mark took him back to school. Andrew's desk chair had barely had time to get warm when the doctor's nurse called our home. I was in no shape to talk because of the gauze filling my mouth, the ice packs on my face and the general fuzziness that results from anesthesia so I hazily told my mom to talk with her. When I heard, “Oh, two toes? A boot? For how long? When do we do this?” I just reached for another pain pill.

My dad went to have Andrew called out of class and, as he drove him to the doctor’s office, broke the news that he’ll be wearing a little walking boot on his foot for the next four weeks. FOUR WEEKS. He’s been a great trouper. It’s a big shoe on a little leg. The lesson here is that if you’re going to break toes, don’t break them where they meet your foot. Break them near the tips where there is indeed nothing to be done for you.

Poor Thomas actually lost a tooth at school that day and there was so much commotion with my throbbing face and Andrew’s new fashion accessory that he forgot to tell us until dinnertime. Needless to say, my parents and Mark earned stars for their crowns this week for dealing with the rest of us.

The bad news is that Mark has now developed a cold that isn't bad enough to keep him away from the gym or work, but it is a mancold, which is the worst variety, so he's as bad off as the rest of us. The good news is that we’re not actually all that bad off, we’ve got some good stories from the week and 2012 is off to a rollicking start!

A little quiz

2011-12-12T19:27:00.001-06:00

When I look at this image, I see a map of the state of West Virginia. You?

Not Thomas. After dinner tonight he was quizzing me on where in South Carolina his cousins will be living when, mid-sentence, he changed course.

“Mom, wouldn’t it be cool to live in West Virginia, where the whole state is a ‘talking bubble’?”

Because I was clearly confused, he explained again; this time with hand motions.

“Mom, you know. The shape of West Virginia is like one of those bubbles that people talk into in books.”

Right. Now that he’s shown me West Virginia through his eyes, I see it too. Wonder what else he could show me that I’ve never thought to see?

Dear Santa–Vol. 1

2011-12-10T10:04:00.001-06:00

Dear Santa,

The leaves are fully off the trees and the crisp feel of winter is in the air. As we prepare for your annual visit it has come to my attention that we have omitted an important request from our collective letters. As the trees shed their coats for the year we have discovered that what we thought were relatively common Bradford Pear trees in our yard are actually trees of the Sportingus Goodus variety. In the spring they’re flush with gorgeous white blooms and in the summer they offer dense, deep green foliage that creates a lovely atmosphere in our yard. It’s not until fall, however, that they reveal their true beauty.

As you can see the Sportingus Goodus species grows quite tall and its branches point straight up, with little horizontal reach. That leads us to our request. It appears that the trees have fruit to offer that we cannot reach with any ladder or tool that we currently own. I’m wondering if it would be possible for you to include a low-altitude fly over on your way out of town to see if you can perhaps free the trees of the collected fruit.

This is but a sampling of nature’s bounty in these unique trees. I can, from my kitchen window, see additional treasures bringing the potential harvest total to two wickets, one soccer ball, one small blue football and one lacrosse net. Should you find yourself too busy to actually help free these items, please drop off a very tall ladder.

Best Regards,

Susan

What he said

2011-11-20T17:27:00.001-06:00

We go from best friends to worst enemies and back to buddies again around here with alarming frequency. (I’m talking about the boys, not me and Mark, for any of you wondering.)

The general pattern starts with Thomas asking Andrew to play something with him. Andrew, after he makes Thomas beg a bit, agrees. They play well together for some period of time before Andrew decides that he needs to do something to exert his will over Thomas, just to make sure that everyone is clear on Andrew’s self-designated roles. The first time or two that Andrew does this Thomas might just go along with it but eventually Thomas remembers he has a spine and offers up a little resistance. From here things can go one of several ways, but the endgame is always the same; Thomas ends up sort of taking it and Andrew is still three years older and three years savvier.

This little scenario played out here a few days ago and just as I was ready to jump in and defend my baby, my baby took care of it himself. He jumped up off the couch, approached Andrew who was sitting down and yelled, in his toughest tough guy voice, “ANDREW, DO YOU WANT A CHUNK OF ME? I DO NOT THINK YOU WANT A CHUNK OF ME!”

With that, he exited stage left and left Andrew speechless.

Bravo, Thomas. Bravo.

Botawhat?

2011-11-17T21:04:00.000-06:00

Try saying Botafogo three times fast. I can’t, which is why we spent last weekend simply yelling, “Come on, Blue!” or “Way to go, White!” Andrew was invited (proud mommy alert…) to play on a tournament team with other kids from his soccer league. He was very excited about the opportunity so we agreed to make it happen. When these opportunities are pitched to parents of young children coaches use language like “two or three games” and “probably just on Saturday and Sunday.” That ends up being code for “four games” and “also on Friday night” and oh, did we mention we’re playing in Kansas City, outdoors, in November?

Not only did we truck it over to the Overland Park Soccer ~~Taj Mahal~~ Complex four times in 36 hours, but so did our lucky kid’s grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins at various times. It also took a village to keep Thomas from having to make that journey four times. Shoutouts to Grandpa and Grandma and the Rocks for saving him twice.

It was a lot of soccer, but the boys of Botafogo (which was a team name not chosen by them but assigned by their Brazilian coach) definitely learned a lot – about soccer and general sportsmanship - and also made some new friends as they learned to play with each other. They ended up playing well enough to earn the coveted title of U9 Boys division champions.

It might as well have been an Olympic win. I think he’s hooked.

Thoughts on thanks

2011-11-15T22:37:00.001-06:00

I will be the first to admit that I ~~frequently~~ occasionally see the glass as half-empty when, really, I’m so lucky and the notion that the glass is half-full is actually a non-negotiable fact. And yet, my vision is sometimes a bit clouded.

Yesterday it was clouded by having to go have a ~~blood letting~~ health assessment over my lunch hour under the guise of it being for my own good, but it really being so that our insurer can determine how much to raise our rates. It became further clouded when I left that appointment and discovered a low tire. It was the same tire that had just received an emergency fill-up four days prior along I-70 while I was on my way to a meeting. A detour to have my tire patched was not on my Monday agenda and that proverbial glass was feeling at least half-empty. I spent that hour of my day engaging in some positive self-talk and left the repair shop feeling better than when I arrived. They repaired my tire at no charge and I walked to a nearby Walmart and knocked out some stocking stuffers. The glass was back to at least quarter-full. Then, as if on cue, my phone rang and I was made aware that Thomas was suffering from what appeared to be a classic migraine and had barfed in the principal’s office and could I please come get him stat and they thought a change of clothes were in order.

Empty. Or at least decidedly low.

And then a funny thing happened. I had no choice but to focus on cleaning up my sick child; to try and make him comfortable and administer sips of Gatorade and watch him sleep on my bathroom floor for the next five hours. I felt simultaneously useful and worried about him and and fortunate for our relative health. Today he woke up feeling much better but kids who have migrained all over the floor at school aren’t welcome back on school property the next day so we spent today at home. What a treat.

Half-full or at maybe even three-quarters.

We watched, at his request, a replay of the Stanford vs. Oregon football game and we rested on his Buzz Lightyear sleeping bag. We chatted about Santa and how large his toy sack might really be and pondered how it stretches. By mid-afternoon he was raring to go and asked if I knew of any Thanksgiving crafts. BE STILL MY HEART. After a quick consult with Google, he was soon creating masterpieces with cotton balls, stickers, feathers and googly eyes and, with me cutting and him helping with glue, we had made this banner.

Thomas decided he’s thankful for Heysnickle, his little blue bear. I am thankful for the boy that loves that blue bear and for his brother and his dad and the rest of our clan. Strangely, I also find myself thankful for an unraveled day that provided an opportunity look at the glass from a different angle - one from which it looks like it's overflowing.

We all have our thing

2011-11-10T20:26:00.001-06:00

I don’t know the official name for this habit I have, but I have to (hope to?) believe we all do it. You know that phenomenon where you get to the grocery store and, as you’re methodically pacing the aisles, you suddenly find yourself reaching for some staple that’s not on you list? There are just some items that you know in your heart you can’t overbuy.

Even if no one has thought to actually write it on the list, I buy shredded cheddar cheese each and every time I go to the store. We use it in lots of ways and if you get home and discover you’ve still got some in the fridge it freezes. Milk? It’s a given we need milk. It’s like a family rule; if you go to Dillon’s for any reason, buy milk.

We have recently discovered, though, that there are some staples that should be purchased only if they’re actually written on the list and even then, should be purchased only in a small quantity. And, said staples should not ever be purchased by one family member without first consulting the other.

Exhibit P…for pepper.

This is about 2.5 lbs. of peppercorns. Sadly? This isn’t all of it. We’ve got two small jars in the cupboard also. Anyone dining at Chez Henderson in the next, oh, say four years, should expect their meal to be heavily seasoned.

Boo!

2011-10-31T21:22:00.001-05:00

Another Halloween is in the books. We had a skeleton and Toad in the house this year and thanks to Grandma, Toad’s hat was a mega hit with the second grade crowd. As tends to be the way with Halloween, we stretched the festivities out over a couple of days by carving pumpkins, attending a Halloween carnival at the boys’ preschool, enjoying parties at their elementary school and trick-or-treating with friends tonight.

Andrew hit the ‘hood tonight with friends from school and a few of their parents. He was delivered home with a bulging bag of candy, which he had already ensured was nut free by making strategic trades with a buddy. I thought that was forward thinking. What might NOT have been forward thinking was the fact that I found all of these empty wrappers in his bag. These were just the ones he didn’t think to dispose of before I found them. I shudder to think what else he ate in addition.

Happy Halloween!

A bunch of pictures hopefully worth a bunch of words

2011-10-28T23:09:00.001-05:00

I'm falling further behind in this blogging quest. Pictures sit in folders, unedited, waiting to be posted and stories float around in my head, waiting to be told. It becomes kind of like putting off a phone call that you're dreading, where the longer you put it off the more difficult it is to make yourself pick up that phone.

So. I'm about to post a photo dump with captions; no stories to speak of and no weaving of tales, just a visual attempt to dig out of the pile. What follows sums up last weekend, though our Friday night excursion to see the National Acrobats of China, went undocumented. The irony of this is, of course, that it's the weekend again so I'm still behind but it will somehow feel like a small step in the right direction.

Thomas' last soccer game of the fall was last Saturday. He's sad. He loved playing and he loved practicing and I'm a little concerned that he's going to ask once a week until April how many more weeks until he gets to play again. We probably should have signed him up for basketball as a distraction.

He's going in for the offensive assist.

If you pretend that I can hold a camera still, you'll see that he has just kicked it straight into a horde of defenders.

Never fear, though. This culminated in a goal. He was a tiny bit proud of himself.

The Thunderbolts RULE! This was one aggressive group of little boys and once again, we totally lucked out with the coaching staff.

This is Coach Natalie and we're very glad her son is in Thomas' grade because she was a great, positive, laid back coach. The fact that she's a former KU soccer player was also a bonus.

After Thomas' game we headed home just long enough to give away our KU vs. K-State football tickets - a move for which we would later congratulate ourselves - and headed back for Andrew's game. It wasn't his last but his coach decided to take advantage of a warm sunny day for photos.

I took about 10 shots of this and another mom distributed hers as well. This is as good as it got for Team Xtreme that day. While they're not all looking at the camera,

I think we can agree that they're all adorable. This is a NICE bunch of kids and a really great coach.

Team huddle to revamp the game plan.

Andrew's on the far right in blue, wrestling over the ball with #10.

It's moving the right direction.

This is the closest I'm going to get to a good action shot with my photography skills. I believe both of his feet are off the ground

right here which brings back concussion nightmares but it all worked out in the end.

On Sunday we ventured to the pumpkin patch with the cousins. The crop is a little thin this year because apparently pumpkins like rain and we've been a little short on that. We had a good time anyway.

Mark loves the pumpkin patch. OK. I can’t even type that with a straight face. This is him enduring having Andrew take our picture and then, guarding our pile out in the field. Thomas is a good pumpkin picker and that pile was larger at one point but the pile guard made him make some tough choices.

We’ve just tackled a rousing Friday night of soccer practice, basketball practice and a birthday party and tomorrow we’ve got a soccer game and family time on tap with the Rocks. That probably means you can either look forward to another post like this one next week or that I should leave the camera at home. Stay tuned.

Apology accepted

2011-10-07T17:41:00.000-05:00

Mark thinks I should be pleased that he doesn't know how to spell snuck. I think I should be pleased that he does know the way to my heart is the written word.

Isn't it ironic

2011-09-08T22:05:00.000-05:00

You know how you have those days where you just feel "off" or like things aren't clicking, but you're not entirely sure why that is? Thomas had one of those evenings.

After school it was a meltdown over his brother not wanting to play what he wanted to play and at dinner, the meltdown was over yogurt; after showers it was over my nerve to ask him to please follow directions.

Except? It was probably actually all about being physically tired, or hungry, or just mentally exhausted from having what was, ironically, a very good day at school. And? Truth be told, I'm probably having one of those weeks as well. It's probably not a coincidence that my mood would rub off on him.

At bedtime things were a little rocky around here and I looked him square in the eye and said, "Thomas, I need you to talk in a normal voice to me and get your act together." He paused for a second and said, quite clearly, "Mom, that's the problem. I'm trying to get an act, but I just can't find one and it's just not working."

Ugh.

Note to self: Get your own act together before you ask these sweet boys to do the same.

Miscellany

2011-08-30T18:21:00.002-05:00

Andrew received a book for his birthday called "Children's Miscellany." He hasn't yet written a thank you note for that gift because I keep forgetting. In my defense, he didn't get the book until three weeks after his birthday, which means that rather than seven weeks late, it's only four...

While the gifter hasn't been appropriately thanked, I love the title and have decided to begin working that word, miscellany, into conversation.

+++++++++

Andrew is feeling much better. His teacher told me this afternoon that he thought Andrew seemed much more energetic and himself today than even yesterday. THAT was what I have been waiting to hear. Every adult who has encountered me in the last week is probably WAY sick of hearing how concerned I am about him, but I've felt strongly that he just hasn't been himself.

A few hours later I know that "more energetic" means loud and even a little bit annoyingly himself, but we'll take it.

++++++++

Now that he's feeling better I think I'm allowed to tell a story of our drive to the hospital last week. Andrew was so upset and confused and also nauseous that I rode in the backseat with him holding a garbage bag. We were 2/3 of the way to the ER when he began moaning and saying he didn't feel well and it just suddenly really felt like it would be good if were there already.

Mark pulled the car through a left hand turn on a busy street and then ducked his head down and announced that he too wasn't feeling well... and was going to blackout.

That's when I began yelling at him to PULLOVERRIGHTTHISINSTANT, because I was doing the math and I felt like if we could just keep driving we would get there faster than if he wrecked the car and we ended up waiting on an ambulance. We did a little Chinese firedrill right in the middle of a street so I could finish up the drive.

Someday we'll tell Andrew about the time he knocked himself silly and his dad was so worried about him that he was having sympathy nausea and dizziness. That's love.

+++++++++

In the last week Andrew has received books, legos, balloons, candy, cupcakes and cards from his buddies as get well wishes. The most priceless one I've saved.

I told this friend's mom that Andrew really appreciated the visit from his classmate and I really appreciated the card because it simply made my day last Thursday!

+++++++++

Speaking of all those get well gifts. We haven't written any thank you notes for those either. Do we need to? I'm not sure. Probably? Thoughts? Opinions?

+++++++++

Since Andrew's been a little out of commission, Thomas has been a little bored. He's accustomed to his brother providing most of his entertainment, much of his direction and nearly all of his thoughts. I have taken him out to ride his bike a couple of times just to get him out of the house and engaged in an activity. Lately, we've been riding to a church up the street because they have a huge, empty parking lot that gives the boys a place to cruise more freely than the sidewalk or our driveway.

Last night he asked me when we could go to Honey Mustard again. I didn't understand the question so I asked him to repeat it. He did. "When can we go to Honey Mustard again?" I couldn't figure out whether he was asking a serious question or just being silly then he said, "You know, to ride our bikes. When can we take our bikes to that Honey Mustard place again?"

It's the church. It's called The Mustard Seed.

That sucked

2011-08-24T22:18:00.001-05:00

I had a regularly scheduled meeting on today's calendar that I regularly dread. I always dread this meeting for reasons that I shouldn't elaborate on in a public forum, but today I was feeling particularly anxious about it. It lasts until 5 p.m. and it was going to be a real feat for either of us to leave work at 5p.m. and somehow still have Andrew AT soccer at 5p.m. and then get Thomas to his first ever soccer practice from 5:45-6:45 and pick Andrew up at 6:30 and somehow have us all eat a dinner together that didn't come out of a box.

I know other families juggle this kind of activity every night of the week without breaking a sweat but we're kind of new to this arena. We had a plan thrown together but I left for work thinking that the plan was full of kinks and hating that this meeting was making it all more complicated. As is so often the case, the biggest kink was still lurking.

Getting a call from Andrew's school principal at 10:45 this morning telling me that he had fallen on the playground and had "bumped his head" turned out to be my golden ticket out of the dreaded meeting. Funny thing, though; by the time the meeting rolled around I would have given anything to be sitting in that uncomfortable, tense professional environment where I'm supposed to look like I have a clue what I'm doing. Instead I was keeping watch over my boy, who had given us an awful fright, and I felt way further in over my head than I ever do at work.

We had spent the intervening hours in the hospital emergency department where Andrew alternated between agitated and tearful to quiet and confused and, truthfully, Mark and I weren't any more clear headed than he was. He asked us a series of questions over and over and over in the ER and we answered them each time but, the more times we answered, the more difficult it became to respond calmly.

"Why are we here?" Because you fell at school.

"How did it happen?" You were playing soccer with your friends.

"Am I paralyzed?" No, sweetie. You hit your head but you walked in to the hospital.

"Am I going to have to spend the night here?" We don't think so but if you do we'll be right here with you.

"Where is Thomas?" He's at school.

"Am I having a dream or is this really happening?" It's real life, baby. This is real life.

"Why are we here again?"
"How did this happen?"
"Am I paralyzed?"
"Do I have to spend the night here?"

And so it went...for two plus hours.

A CT scan indicated that he has a concussion but no bleeding and no skull fracture and we were sent home with instructions on how to care for a child with a head injury which include staying near him tonight and waking him during his sleep. It won't be a problem because you couldn't pry us away.

He's still a little groggy and just sort of slow for Andrew standards. He doesn't remember anything about today, though he did eventually become able to at least wager a guess on what he had eaten for breakfast. We're trying to piece together exactly what happened on the playground because he doesn't have a clue and at this point it doesn't seem likely he's going to remember.

Needless to say he won't be at school tomorrow and he won't be playing soccer for a while. I also won't dread the next regularly scheduled meeting quite as much because no middle-aged man can lob anything at me that's more upsetting than watching a piece of your DNA hurt so much.

Perspective

2011-08-16T10:25:00.000-05:00

We live in a quiet little town with our two children, one dog and 1.75 jobs. We lead a fairly simple life. With that said, I’m not sure why I can’t find time to document our existence here. We’re no busier than the average family. I think I just manage my time poorly because I somehow feel like I meet myself coming and going. Someday I’ll get better at this. In the meantime, I’ve made this my screensaver at work. It reminds me that at the end of each day my kids look peaceful and relatively happy.

This was taken on our summer vacation to Dallas. The boys shared a bed and, quite frankly, it didn’t go that well. At some point during each night we were in our hotel room I was awakened by them YELLING at one another about who had more blankets and who was hogging mattress space. Yet, early one morning, mere hours after a 3 a.m. tussle that could have woken the neighbors, we found this.

It makes me happy.

Our own little Webster

2011-07-25T22:18:00.000-05:00

It's hot here. I understand, according to Al Roker and that crazy Cantore fellow, that it's pretty much hot everywhere and I'm really not complaining. I'll take really hot over really cold any day. You know it's been really hot for a really long time, though, when a five-year-old can accurately inform you about how many days it's been since his preschool class has been allowed to play outside in the afternoon.

Thomas' teacher, the fabulous Miss Lori, has made a game of checking the weather with her students. They recite the phone number to the local Time & Temp phone line out loud as she dials and they all listen very quietly for the magic number. In the winter, it's 32. In the summer, it's 95. Except for now. Now it's so hot that they have to wait for the verdict on the "feels like" temperature.

While discussing weather-appropriate attire for an adventure we're having tomorrow, Thomas reminded me that if it's 99 degrees, it might feel more like 105 degrees. Then he told me, in his Thomas way with his eyes open wide and his head cocked slightly to one side and leaned back just a bit, that "the real weather word for that is the HEATDEX."

And that, my friends, is my new favorite made up word.

You say it's your birthday

2011-07-18T19:21:00.000-05:00

In lieu of a full birthday recap, for now, I'm going to let some pictures tell the story of a really fun backyard birthday celebration for a certain eight-year-old I know and love. We invited his friends for a Friday night sprinkler and pizza party. I filled 125 water balloons (which, lesson learned, took 1 hour to fill and 30 seconds to pop) and we set up some other games. Mark was sure that 2.5 hours was going to be way too long but they didn't seem to be short on ways to entertain themselves. And us.

The water showdown is about to begin. This is a mad race for the Super Soakers. Note that Thomas is in the Ready Stance even though he's been told not to use a Super Soaker and to save the water balloons for our guests.

Sprinkler's on, and they're not afraid.

My sister passed along this great idea to spray paint a twister board in the yard. It took 10 minutes to execute and it was great fun. It's also still in the yard, since it hasn't rained since then and our yard has apparently quit growing. It may well still be there come September so if you like Twister, come on over.

The badminton net was a hit. It's also a miracle it could still be used since it was acquired by my parents long about the time of my eighth birthday.

Thomas struggled to share his brother with the big boys. And by struggle I mean he cried all the way through his dinner and was yucky to his cousin in his insistence that he DIDN'T want to eat dinner with him. We were so proud.

The Birthday Boy.

We had a family dinner on Saturday, his actual birthday. This is Thomas and Natalie waiting for Andrew to open his gifts in the most patient way they can muster.

A rare family photo.

Happy Birthday to our favorite eight-year-old!

What if

2011-06-29T20:45:00.002-05:00

Once again it appears that three weeks have passed. I hate that. I hate that it happens without my really being aware of it and that I have little to show for it. What if I was either busy discovering a cure for cancer OR immersed in the every minute of the days of my little people? Would that missing three weeks still bother me as much as it does?

+++++++++

Inquisitive is a nice euphemism for Andrew's incessant curiosity. Like many kids, he asks an astounding number of questions each day. Lately, though, he's started posing more rhetorical questions. These are not fabricated, nor are they even embellished. These are actual What if questions he's lobbed out into the air in recent weeks...

"What if I ate four thousand marshmallows and then drank four gallons of Coke? Do you think I would explode?"

"What if the United States just killed Moammar Gadhafi instead of trying to talk him into being nicer?"

"What if I purposely did a belly flop off the high dive? If I did it on purpose would it still hurt?"

"What if people pooped from their mouths and talked out of their bottoms?"

+++++++++

We're getting lots of practice at the "not reacting" part of this parenting business.

Back at ya

2011-06-08T22:11:00.004-05:00

Andrew has to take a sack lunch to summer camp each day. His preferred sandwich rotation is, to my mind, a little boring. In an effort to spice up the offerings and also expand his horizons I try to slip in small things that I know aren't his very favorite but hopefully he'll at least try. Last week it was blueberries, yesterday it was red peppers, today radishes. I'm guessing a lot of the surprises go in the trash but he doesn't mention them and I don't ask.

On Monday I slipped in a little note instead of an obscure vegetable. It just said, "I hope you have fun at the movie. I love you, Mom."

When I opened his lunchbox that evening to get it ready for the next day I found that he had surprised me right back. This was inside:

I think I'll keep him.

Teamwork

2011-05-31T21:57:00.001-05:00

I see it's been two+ weeks since I've visited my little corner of the internet. We've had too much soccer, baseball, end of school, warm weather, 20th! high school reunion and travel on the docket. I have good intentions to document some of that eventually so I'm skipping to yesterday. I love that I can do that since this is my website.

We have owned the House of Hondo for 10 years tomorrow and during those 10 years, the landscaping that was practically newborn when we took possession has matured into full-blown angry teenager. We've got one tree scraping the porch and shading the sidewalk to the point that there are no longer any annuals on the market that appreciate the level of shade it delivers. We've got another tree threatening to take over our driveway and one in the backyard attempting to become one with the boys' playset. I decided yesterday was the day to reclaim our yard, and a trashcan and five huge yard bags later, we've bought ourselves another six months before we have to call in a professional. And, my begonias might have a prayer of blooming.

I was so in the groove after attacking all these trees (albeit only as far up as someone who is 5' 6" can reach from the top of a stepladder - it looks as polished as you might imagine) that I decided it was time for the scrubby stuff that had been dying by our front walk to go too. I pruned it all back as far as I could then sweetly batted my eyelashes at my husband and asked him if we couldn't use some teamwork to just quick-like dig those stumps out of the ground.

"I'm sure their roots aren't all that deep."

"I know you just mowed but this will only take a few minutes."

He totally fell for it. Next thing you know we had a family shovel fest going down. A short hour later we had removed two past-their-prime bushes and are ready for a fresh start. I might have been a bit off on how much effort it would take but we definitely had the teamwork part covered. These three boys shoveled their arms off.

I included this last shot to document that I was indeed chatting with a neighbor while the boys finished the job. I did my part by dragging it all out to the curb tonight. If the trashmen take it all tomorrow morning then this job has been a success.

I love my team!!!

Who's laughing now?

2011-05-13T20:48:00.003-05:00

We at House of Hondo are so excited by warmer weather and longer days. The boys rush to get dressed so they can play outside before school and they rush home to jump in the trampoline after school. The birds are chirping, the sun is shining and things are grand.

Or are they?

We've reached a phase in our house where the boys "sleep in." While the definition of "sleep in" is relative, we've become accustomed to 7:15 or 7:30 for Thomas and even 7:45 for Andrew. That leisurely hour feels purely luxurious after the early years of Thomas' life where he was regularly up and at 'em by 6 a.m. He's the reason we instituted the Do Not Come Out Of Your Room Until The Clock Starts With A Seven rule.

It turns out the only drawbacks of longer days and more sun are longer days and more sun. Hello, 6 a.m.!

***I do not like 6 a.m.***

After a few consecutive mornings of early wakeups, and the resulting grumpy evenings, I have taken matters into my own hands. Genius or desperation? You be the judge:

That's right. I taped their bedroom curtains to the walls last night. They already have blackout lining but that pesky gap between the curtain and the wall seemed to be giving us fits. I've taken care of that issue in a super klassy manuever involving a roll of masking tape. Mark was sure they would notice AND that it wouldn't work. It turns out to be very fortuitous that theirs are the only two rooms in this house that I haven't painted so their contractor white walls match that klassy tape pretty well and they were none the wiser.

Everyone stayed in their own beds until 7:20 a.m. I'm thinking that this round goes to Mom.

Royal fever

2011-05-05T21:54:00.002-05:00

As someone who has recently turned down an invitation to see the Princess Diana traveling exhibit that's in Kansas City because it just doesn't trip my trigger enough to spend a precious Saturday morning there, I have to admit that I got a bit sucked into last week's Royal Wedding. I didn't think I would be interested but once it was happening I found myself mesmerized by the footage and wondering why I don't get to be Kate Middleton.

Part of the appeal was that the boys (the two small ones) were just as interested as I was. As is typical, and totally wonderful, they were intrigued by different aspects of the whole circus. Next time you see Andrew, quiz him about the who, how and when of the ascension to the throne. He's got it covered. He also knows how old the Queen, Prince Charles and Prince William are and he thinks Her Majesty looks pretty good for eighty-five.

Thomas was kind of just into the William and Kate part of the story and somehow became aware that William is a helicopter pilot. He, if quizzed, will share that Kate is now Katherine because she's a princess after she wore that pretty dress.

They watched the coverage at Buckingham Palace with me as we prepared for school and that lead to the creation of White Wing Palace underneath our deck later that afternoon. Sadly, it rained before I thought to photograph the signage Andrew made for their backyard castle but it had a crest and everything. Their palace was furnished with everything that lives in our backyard that isn't nailed down; plastic picnic table, sand table, mini-trampoline, soccer net, wheelbarrow, etc. They spent the better part of an hour horsing these things around the yard. While they were in the palace they were both Knights. Beautiful stuff that I couldn't dream up if I tried.

The part I did get documented was Thomas' school outfit for the big Royal Wedding Day. His teacher, the fabulous Miss Lori, planned a day of royal festivities, complete with Burger King crowns for everyone, and invited all the kids to wear their best princess or prince attire. We're a little short on princess dresses around here but Thomas' research into Prince William left him inspired.

Prince William - the pilot!

Thanks to Uncle Jeff and Aunt Stephanie we do happen to have a flight suit in the closet and it would be an understatement to say this was a hit at school. He wore it all day long and would have worn it to dinner with little encouragement.

It's a little bit of a letdown to know that William is now officially taken, and while Harry is still technically available, I think I'll stick with HRHs Andrew and Thomas.

Happy happy

2011-04-26T16:53:00.002-05:00

We had a really lovely Easter weekend around here. On Saturday we enjoyed two rain-free soccer games, which is an automatic win in April, then an evening with family from near and far. Sunday we enjoyed not one but two egg hunts and the bunny was very generous.

He was so giving that, before we had ever even headed out to church, Thomas was pawing through his haul with amazement. After surveying the goods he said, "Dad! Look at all these many candies the Easter Bunny brought! We'll be sick when we eat all of this!"

I guess he's got the cause and effect concept nailed. Next week we'll work on how you can use that understanding to avert crisis.

Thomas Luke

2011-04-16T11:05:00.000-05:00

DISCLAIMER...I've been writing this post for two weeks now. I haven't quite been able to find (dedicate?) the time to get a coherent paragraph put together. I'm suffering from a blogger's block. It's still not quite what I want it to be, and in the meantime life keeps flying by, so as I go back and edit last week's work, and the week before also, I think I've created a jumble of tenses and voices and I'm just going to let 'er rip anyway because hopefully someday Thomas will read this and know my intention and forgive the mistakes - both written and real.

*********

In mid-April five years ago, I was spending all my waking hours wishing to be asleep and wondering if my baby would ever stop crying. I wondered if I would ever understand this new child we had brought into the world. He was unhappy and obviously uncomfortable and was confusing to me. I vividly remember telling my mom, on a night when he was weeks old and Mark was out-of-town and I had called in tears just needing someone else to hold him and listen to him scream, that I loved him but wasn't one bit sure that I liked him.

That boy turned five a couple of weeks ago and somewhere along the way he has stolen my heart. He just goes around carrying the part of it that his brother hadn't already taken. He's subtle, though. He doesn't flaunt that he's got something that belongs to me, but I think he knows. Thanks goodness he generally tries to be careful with it.

That screaming baby just needed a little time, a lot of Prevacid, a tighter swaddle, bigger eustachian tubes and some understanding. His needs have actually not changed dramatically. It has just been an evolution.

While he no longer needs to be held upright for 30 minutes after each feeding, he is still a somewhat fragile ecosystem. His coughs go south with alarming speed and his allergies lead to headaches that are quite obviously real and those can wreck a day in a heartbeat. He's plagued by touchy lungs and sinuses, for which I'm sure he'll someday appropriately thank me. And yet, he's tougher for it all I believe. I think he's had some minor nagging pain or ache for most of his living days and as a result, he's kind of a tough little bugger. This is the boy who can be diagnosed with an ear infection about which he never complained and can swallow his prednisone without a chaser or a flinch, which is sad and endearing all at once. I love him for it.

He still needs, and freely gives, the human touch. He still likes for all 40-some inches of him to be carried and he still happily takes my hand each morning as we walk into his school. He hugs with reckless abandon and he's the only child in this house that will still back right into my lap to read a book. He often snuggles up next to me so stealthily that I don't notice it happening. I frequently am surprised to find that we are two people in a space designed for one and that I love it.

His worship for his brother is both heartwarming and heartbreaking, because occasionally it's not reciprocated in the way a mother bear would wish. He thinks that Andrew hung the moon and would admit it too. He has nicknames for him and holds him in highest esteem even when Andrew doesn't deserve it. It is definitely an unconditional love. More often than not, he chooses to be wherever Andrew is, which frequently means that he camps out outside Andrew's room, or even outside timeout, just to wait for his company. He's becoming better able to stand his ground, occasionally even with words instead of his fists, but he's still often willing to play second fiddle.

He is also often underestimated, by me and others I think. He doesn't typically demand to be the center of attention in this house full of first-borns and possesses a subtlety that some of us don't. I took him to the pediatrician for his five-year-well visit and the nurse asked us questions about his development and skills. When she asked if he could write the letters of the alphabet I proudly told her yes. Then she asked if he could write numbers. I tentatively responded by telling her that he knew them but couldn't write them.

"Yes, I can," he said quietly. She handed him a piece of paper and he did it. One through nine. Who knew? He did; that's often enough for him. This boy who trails around after his brother is simultaneously self-possessed in so many ways.

His imagination is a colorful place and he's pretty darn generous with it. His "boys,"as he refers to them, are part of our everyday lives. The fact that Rexy the smiling dinosaur and Heysnickle the little blue bear are stuffed animals is lost on him at this point. They're his constant companions and they give him bravery and hugs and even sometimes trouble at bedtime. Many nights I listen to him talk with them about the behavior he expects and he regales them with stories of his day. They sometimes share their hugs with us and he frequently thinks of things that he wants to tell them when we arrive home from any adventure. He's immune to the heat he takes from his brother about these two creatures and he's steadfast in his devotion to them. He's going to make a great friend down the road.

That imagination translates into some pretty great independent play as well. He can spend hours creating scenes with cars and blocks and toys and carry on several parts of a conversation, oblivious to anyone around him. I sometimes find myself just watching him, when I'm midway through cooking dinner or maybe a load of laundry, because his ability to suspend disbelief is so intact - and utterly delightul.

And yet, he's sometimes so grounded in reality. This is not a boy that dives right in. This is a boy who surveys a situation and typically gets the lay of the land before he makes any bold moves. He's as cautious that way as his brother is bold. He always gets warmed up but it sometimes takes a bit because he's got some soaking it all up to do. Don't ever think he's not paying attention, though. He is. He's a baffling mix of serious and silly that I sometimes can't accurately predict.

At home he frequently asks to color or draw or paint or "do crafts." At school they have to strongly encourage him to even pick-up a crayon some days. Go figure. If you ask him why he'll shrug and say, "I don't feel like it there." I think that's code for, "I like to keep you all guessing. Don't get too comfortable." He is also the best helper you could hope to have. Need someone to help cook? He's quick to grab a chair, race it across the floor, bang it into the cabinets and assume his perch. We're currently battling a little ant infestation and he is ALL OVER IT. He stomps them with his bare feet and hands and then carefully wipes up the tiny ant carcasses without being asked. He genuinely loves to make himself useful and he's surprisingly able.

He's a gentle soul that's sometimes overtaken by a rowdy boy, but at the end of each day, when he's safe in bed with his "boys" and he's hugged and kissed and hugged some more, he's simply sweet - in a way I never would have predicted five years ago. I have often thought that I knew Andrew better than he knew himself, almost from the moment he arrived. I still don't think that's true of Thomas. He continues to reveal himself to us.

In some ways five years goes slowly. There have been long nights and much illness and phases of little sleep and speech therapy and days of frustrating school behavior and reluctance to try new things to a degree that's caused gray hair. And, in all the cliche ways about which people warn you, five years has vaporized.

That screaming, colicky baby is a boy. He's stretching into a lean and lanky kindergartner and has developed a sense of humor that's beyond entertaining. He is coordinated and he's a story teller and he's so very Thomas all the time. He is not perfect, but he is perfect for this family and he is good for me in a way I didn't know I needed until he arrived.

I forgive him for stealing my heart and I'm going to let him keep it.

The lowdown

2011-03-27T09:47:00.003-05:00

My wonderful brother-in-law told me that he can't wait to read the blog posts that will summarize the last week of our collective lives. He told me this while the kids zipped through the kitchen at top speed over and over and over. Apparently he believes I'm going to recap our Spring Break vacation to California in a way that will amuse him.

I would hazard a guess that he thinks I'm going to write about how wet and chilly it was in Southern California during our visit and that I'm going to tell all about each of our families losing days of carefree fun to sick children. He probably also thinks I'm going to bitch about how I was discriminated against because ~~I'm a girl~~ I live in Kansas, and I wasn't allowed to drive a car to the grocery store without a chaperone. (I'm not bitter about that. I know it was because of all that aforementioned rain.) He has probably even predicted I'll tell you that we learned the hard way that the Griffith Observatory isn't open on Mondays and that Legoland isn't open on Tuesdays.

That all happened, but in the 48 hours we've been home, those aren't the memories that really jump out to me.

Room for everyone on the swingset

Instead, I'm going to show you how much fun six kids can have in a backyard that's equipped with a tree and a swingset. I'm so terribly biased, but these are great kids and they have great fun together. With each visit, they pick up right where they left off the time before.

Jump Rope!

Zac and Andrew in a tree. I don't think they're supposed to be up
that high, but all's well that ends well.

I would be remiss not to mention that roller skating is a very good rainy day activity and I can report that it's kind of like riding a bike. Though it had been at least 25 years, it all came back to us adults quickly. I should also document that four kids had four different styles of learning to skate and they all worked, though the styles of the two youngest resulted in sore shoulders and elbows for their parents. For them, skating was a contact sport.

I will also tell you that while Griffith Observatory is indeed closed on Mondays, the drive there is worth the trip and walking around the grounds and capturing the views offered of the Hollywood hills, downtown LA, the Pacific Ocean and the famed HOLLYWOOD sign were all great fun. Having the Train Museum in the park all to ourselves was fun too. Not many people braved the tempermental elements that day and the kids had the run of the place. We even had our own private tram driver.

Griffith Park Outlook. If you look carefully you can see the
Hollywood sign iin the background.

Deserted train park

I can confirm that while it seems very strange for a theme park to be closed two days a week, after two checks of Legoland's website, we had no choice but to believe it. My genius sister-in-law knew we needed to step up with a really good substitute and Disney's California Adventure did the trick. Upon entering, we wondered if California Adventure was another bust for the trip, but it turns out it's a total win if you just give it time.

The Bugs' Life train ride. Exhilirating it was not.

Zac on the Bugs' Life bumper cars. We were starting to get somewhere now.

On the Disney Midway

Andrew, Zac, Mark & Eric rode this rollercoaster. When did they grow old
enough to do this?!

What Maria, Claire, Thomas and I did while the boys rode the rollercoaster.

The kids had a blast and while I won't speak for anyone else, I did too.

I'm also going to show you that a well-stocked costume trunk can provide hours of fun - both for the kids wearing the costumes and the adults being entertained by them.

No shame.

Rides in the Model A are also always entertaining. Butch and I spent what must have been 90 minutes driving around Claremont rotating who got to sit in the back and who had to sit on my lap so that everyone had a fair turn. We also throroughly embarrassed Zac by going to pick him up from school like this!

The coveted rumble seat.

So, while Eric thought I was going to remember total chaos as four, five or sometimes even six kids shrieked and ran and yelled and wrote on each other with markers and shrieked and played, he's wrong. I remember that it's a gift for these kids to play together, for hours on end, so well and for them to wake up each morning asking when we're starting the day's adventures together. I'm also going to remember a lot of good food consumed and oodles of good company.

I will remember that it's a good idea to check ahead for operating hours, but if they don't work with your operating hours, Plan B will probably be just as good. And, I will also remember how lovely it is to spend a week at Casa Henderson where food is prepared on your behalf and the trash cans are always empty, without my having to lift a finger. Thank you!

Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery

2011-03-25T22:42:00.002-05:00

I owe this blog a post about our recent trip to California, but while I struggle to amass the right pictures in the right folders, allow me to borrow this video from my sister-in-law's blog. It's a pretty good summation of the total hilarity and chaos that reigns when nine first-borns/oldest/only children are assembled in one family.

The Tuckers own a Wii game called, "Just Dance" and it's a total hoot. After all the kids had taken turns and even Aunt Susan and Aunt Maria had cut a rug, they decided it was time for Uncle Mark and Uncle Eric to show us what they had.

As you can see, no one can resist the lure of shaking what you got. Click here to see some funny stuff.

Sleep tight

2011-03-15T22:04:00.004-05:00

The boys and I spent some time outside on this beautiful March afternoon. Andrew insisted on playing in the front yard because he wanted to climb the trees. They can't play in the front yard without my being outside with them and I hedged at first; I have lots of laundry to do. Thank goodness I relented. I would have missed this if they had been in the backyard.

The video quality is poor and unedited, but it's such a great glimpse into how they roll that I'm posting it anyway. Andrew swung himself up into that tree dozens of times, kind of like a leaping monkey, and Thomas? Thomas was practicing his football footwork. He's watched too much of the recent NFL combine agility testing with Dad on television.

You would think they would be tired at bedtime, no?

Dedication

2011-03-10T22:02:00.000-06:00

The Jayhawks squeaked out an ugly victory today in the first round of the Big 12 tournament. The game was at 11:30 a.m. and Thomas was concerned by that fact because he would be at school and unable to watch.

At around noon I received a text from one of his teachers with this photo attached. The message said, "Thomas is keeping us up-to-date on the score. Rock Chalk."

Notice he's wearing his coat and there are kids outside - you can see their hands pressed against the window. He had chosen to forego outside time to stand on a chair with his ear pressed to a radio to listen to the game while a teacher cleaned up after lunch.

What a great school for letting him do this; it was important to him. What a great teacher for capturing a picture; she didn't have to do that.

What a great kid.

Limited lexicon

2011-02-24T22:15:00.001-06:00

Things were a little raucous at the Hondo dinner table tonight. The combination of a snowstorm, a late-afternoon ice cream cone treat, fresh haircuts and just being male was almost too much to contain. As is typical, it was Mark who had a brilliant idea about how to refocus our young charges that didn't involve corporal punishment. He got out a piece of paper and asked them each to tell us their three favorite words.

I'll give you a minute here because I know you're thinking of yours right now. Done? OK.

Thomas went first. "Poop, pee and diaper."

That pronouncement was followed by hysterical laughter and a smugness that you just kind of have to admire. This is a young man who knows what he likes.

Andrew went next. "Assassin, Pepsi and Coke."

Look for a reaction much? Unfortunately, he forgot that it was just this morning that he had asked about the definition of assassin because he had heard the term in relation to Abraham Lincoln. He also forgot that it was me he asked so that didn't come from quite as far out of left field as he might have hoped.

Mark went after him. Forgetting that he hadn't asked what they boys' three favorite things were, he answered his own question with "Bicycle, computer and cereal."

This is shocking information, no?

At that point the conversation changed course as Mark and I debated how to spell assassin. (It turns out it's appropriately spelled and easy to remember, what with that double "ass" right at the front.) By the time we got that worked out the game was over and I never got to tell my three favorite words.

I like words quite a lot and would have had a difficult time narrowing my choices on the spot. But, if Thomas can do it, I should be able to do it also. For tonight I'm going with "subsequently, apparently and catalyst."

So, lay 'em on me. If you're brave enough to list three you like leave them in the comments. Remember, though, that "poop" is already taken.

Like a worm

2011-02-21T19:17:00.000-06:00

This warms my heart.

We even know his comprehension is alright because at the end of every chapter he delivers an animated recap.

Nuts!

2011-02-01T17:21:00.003-06:00

The weather here is nuts today. It's the "fit for neither man nor beast" kind of day outside. Inside it's warm and toasty and dinner's in the crock pot and life is pretty good. It makes a person thankful.

*********

Andrew has, since he could first clearly communicate with us, hated the smell of peanuts. He rejected his first-offered peanut butter sandwich. Much to my amazement, he once nibbled a Reese's Peanut Butter cup at Easter and then rejected that too. Is he nuts?! I should only have that willpower. Over the years he has made it widely-known that he doesn't like peanut butter, doesn't like peanuts and doesn't really like anyone consuming either in his presence. He can smell it an hour later and a mile away. We've often urged him to give it another try. Try it with honey! Try it honey roasted! Try it with chocolate. No way.

A couple of weeks ago he was set to spend the night with a friend and at 9:30 that night his host parent for the evening called and asked me if he was allergic to peanuts. I assured her he isn't but relayed that he acts like he is because he's so repulsed by it. She sounded somewhat relieved but said that he had eaten a few bites of a chocolate chip cookie and about halfway through the cookie had inquired if it contained peanut butter. The answer? Yes, about three tablespoons in the batch of batter.

Apparently he spit that bite out but it was now an hour later and he was complaining of being itchy and she wondered if I just wanted to come and check it out. By the time I arrived down the street he was broken-out in full-blown hives all over his neck, back and chest. I administered Benadryl and brought him home for the night. He woke up the next morning with no trace of the hives and ready to roll.

A week later he came down with strep throat. I mentioned the hives incident to our pediatrician and inquired as to whether it would be prudent to do an allergy test just to make sure. I also shared that he's eaten plenty of things that have "traces" of peanuts on the label and that as a family we consume a lot of it so it seemed unlikely he was actually allergic. She agreed it was unlikely but thought we should do a blood test just as a peace-of-mind thing.

We finally got around to that last week and three days later, at 4 p.m. on a Friday, began receiving calls from the pediatrician's nurse on every phone we own. They really wanted to talk to us. It turns out that his aversion is pretty fascinating since he's "off the charts" allergic to peanuts.

*********

This morning Mark, Andrew and I braved this nutty weather to meet with an allergist about his blood results and to learn how to use an Epi-Pen. The results indicated this sky-high reaction to peanuts as well as a very high reaction to soy, a moderate reaction to black walnuts and a mild reaction to corn. Go figure.

We have no reason to think he actually reacts to soy because, if you open your pantry, you'll discover it's in EVERYTHING. (The allergist helpfully pointed out that the best way to avoid soy would be to grow all of your own produce and to include NOTHING that comes in a can, box, bag or bottle at the grocery store in your diet.) Thankfully, he doesn't think we need to do that.

He does, however, think that Andrew needs to not consume any peanuts, walnuts, almonds, cashews, pecans, you get the picture. Peanuts are actually legumes but since he also has a reaction to walnuts all signs point to it not really mattering whether it grows in the ground or on a tree - it's off limits.

The good news here is that this won't dramatically affect Andrew's diet. He's not going to miss any of these things. It does mean we all have to be good at reading labels and he has to ask questions when offered food. Fortunately for us he's a pretty bright guy and I think he can do this. I mean, if he didn't want to eat a peanut three weeks ago you can only imagine how motivated he is now.

*********

I think what's really nuts about all of this is how his body has apparently defended him all these years. It's a lot easier to avoid a food you don't like. Anything your body's telling you? Maybe you should listen!

Game on

2011-01-29T14:47:00.000-06:00

This is apparently what smack talk looks like when you're seven. We're so proud.

This?

2011-01-24T20:08:00.000-06:00

This is not an excellent start to the week.

Andrew asked me if I said a bad word to the man who did this to my car bright and early this morning and I have to brag and say that I did not, which is pretty remarkable.

The world is all about balance, though, and to balance this out? Thomas learned to tango at school today and he likes to practice. With me. In our kitchen. A little tango with your best boy can make everything better.

Homeschooling

2011-01-22T14:33:00.003-06:00

Is there anything more boring to blog about - or talk about, for that matter - than the weather? No? I agree. You've been warned.

We enjoyed a beautiful, warm fall here in hondoland and didn't see more than a trace of snow until early-January. That's why the successive storms that have each dropped 6+ inches as they blazed through town in recent weeks have been a bit of a shock to the system.

Thanks to snow days, Martin Luther King Jr. Day and strep throat Andrew has only been to school about twice in the last two weeks. That time away from the books has been well-spent, though, and not without its lessons.

We've had engineering and science lessons while shoveling and building snow forts.

Snow = heavier than it looks

Constructing arches of heavy snow = more cooperation and forethought than comes naturally

We've also had some photography lessons. By "lessons," I mean Thomas has tormented us with his Fisher-Price camera and Andrew has helped himself to our camera off the kitchen counter. Andrew's not bad, really, and he's not afraid to take, oh 1,000 or so shots to get a few good ones.

"Amaryllis in winter"

"Madeline VERY CLOSE to lens"

Currently they are experimenting with free enterprise. They have carefully chosen some of their most prized possessions and arranged them artfully on Andrew's bed, which has become the Fruit of the Loom Shopping Center. For real. I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried. It reminds me of the restaurant my sister and I used to pretend to own. We called it the Garden Culvert. Catchy, you have to admit.

Anyway, Mark and I have both been invited upstairs to purchase goods from the store and for the bargain basement price of $2.20 I am now the proud owner of a still life drawing and a small plastic lizard. I believe Mark has just purchased two books and a small rubber ball from the store for only $1. If you forget about the part where we initially purchased all of their inventory, I feel like we really did get some good deals.

Good signage is a must

Impressive display of merchandise

We've got the Jayhawks and Longhorns on tap next. That's when we practice good sportsmanship and volume control. The lessons never end!

You win some, you lose some

2011-01-11T21:13:00.001-06:00

Some days are better than others. Today was good if you're a small hondo. It was the second snow day in a row and it involved nothing but fun...until it wasn't fun anymore. Let this serve as a reminder of why purposely spinning around until you make yourself so dizzy that you fall over is not really such a hot idea.

It looks worse in real life but he seems to be rallying and no teeth appear to be loose. However, the score remains COFFEE TABLE, 1 - THOMAS, 0. The irony of the fact that he's wearing pajamas that say, "Saving the World Before Bedtime" and that he's using "Mr. Happy" on his lip are fortunately lost on him.

Feliz Navidad y Próspero Año Nuevo

2011-01-01T22:56:00.001-06:00

This is going to be a catch-all post. Just bear with me here. I promise to do better work next week when I'm no longer on vacation. So, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! We here at House of Hondo have done the holidays up right this year. Santa Claus found us and was very generous, we've spent great time with friends and family and we've eaten gluttonously. I think that's all that any of us had on our Christmas lists.

Madden football. We've spent HOURS pretending to know how to play this game this week.

We've really outdone ourselves in the last week doing, well, basically nothing. And? It's been heavenly. We dressed for church on Christmas Eve and since then...not so much.

We've eaten lunch in pajamas, we've played with new toys for hours on end, we've gone days at a time without leaving the house and I think it's safe to say we've loved nearly every minute of that. In fact, I think we needed it.

They reported that they were getting dressed for work. Thomas was supposed to be Mark
and Andrew was supposed to be dressed as me, which apparently means
he thinks I'm an enthusiastic Jayhawk fan who robs banks.

All of this together-time has provided the opportunity to overhear dozens of little conversational gems. Some of my favorites follow:

"We are kids and we need for the grownups to give us a little piece of quiet around here." - Thomas, at Christmas Dinner in Kansas City while concentrating on a pretzel decorating project.

"Can someone cut my donut in half, please? But, I want Dad to do it really because he cuts bigger halves than you do, Mom." - Thomas, in reference to the daily donut that Dad has been delivering from the grocery store.
"Thomas, put on your coat. We're going to walk to the mailbox." - Me, just being a nagging mom. "NO! I don't need a coat. It's HAPPY! NEW! YEAR! and that means I'll be warm no matter what!"
"Wyatt, it looks like we'll just have to play baseball in the basement. I guess you should just cross your arms that we don't break anything!" - Thomas to his cousin after Mark declined to take them in the backyard to play baseball in the dark.

Tomorrow brings one more celebration where we'll exchange gifts with my sister's family. They arrived tonight with a large U-Haul, which Thomas initially hoped might be full of presents. I assured him that it's just all their worldly posessions instead, which is much more exciting because it marks the beginning of their year in Kansas. If that isn't a great start to a new year for us, then I don't know what is.

That brings me to resolutions. Last year I made a bunch. This year's list is shorter. In 2011, I resolve to exhibit more grace and more patience - with my kids, with my husband and with my family and friends.

Madeline after her visit yesterday to Pawsh Wash

I even resolve to be more patient with our stinky dog. Everyone deserves a fresh start at this time of year. Happy 2011!

My grown-up Christmas list

2010-12-23T22:15:00.002-06:00

Dear Santa,

I think we're finished here. As far as I know, we're just patiently waiting on you now. Everything that was on my purchase list has been acquired and is all wrapped and sorted into piles to help take the crunch out of the 10 p.m. - midnight portion of Christmas Eve. (I learned a little lesson after last year when that freak blizzard sort of wrecked last-minute Christmas Eve errands and stretched our 1.5-mile long journey home from Christmas Eve dinner into a 45-minute trip. You just never know.)

Ho! Ho! Ho!

Now that everyone else's lists have been checked - twice - it's time to make it all about me again. (I know, I know. I'm working on it.) Anyway, this is my grown-up Christmas list.

Just enough snow tomorrow to dust the grass but not enough to keep us from moving about the country freely
Good health for our friends and family
A bath for our stinky dog
A protest-free church outing tomorrow evening, with everyone properly clothed
Peace - world and otherwise
A longer fuse
Toilets that automatically close and flush - I live with so many boys
Perspective - I lose it occasionally and it's sad when that happens
Perfect recall of our boys' enthusiasm for the season this year - it's kind of intoxicating

It's not much, Daddy. But it's definitely wrapped and signed with love.

I could go on and on here, but I know this probably isn't a good time. We look forward to your visit tomorrow and hope you'll call attention to the special oatmeal & glitter concoction that will be sprinkled for the reindeer on the front lawn.

Love, Susan

Approval ratings

2010-12-21T22:27:00.001-06:00

I'm going to use this forum to take a quick poll. (It shouldn't take long since there are four of you who read...) I'm kind of putting myself out there, but I just really need to know.

I printed and mailed approximately the same number of Christmas cards this holiday as I have in recent years. I did do just a little bit of list pruning because postage isn't going down and neither is the cost to print cards, and I figured there were a few people in our roster who probably wouldn't miss us and some who see us everyday so I figure they don't need a photo.

Now we're at December 21 and I have noticed, for sure, that we have apparently been pruned from some lists as well, because we have not received nearly as many cards as we have in years past. Nor have we received as many as I sent. Hmmmm.

I read this story earlier today and breathed a small sigh of relief. If writers at Slate are talking about it then perhaps it's not just me?

So, I'm wondering. Is the cost of Christmas card production and delivery getting to folks? Are people concerned about the environmental impact of all that photo paper flying about the country? Does it take too much time? Is the pressure to capture a photo of your children smiling and clean just too great?

Wait. What? You don't know what I'm talking about and you've received a record number of holiday greetings?

Seriously, people. I want to know. Is it just us? Is it you too? What say you?

Let's all panic about mercury

2010-12-13T22:05:00.001-06:00

We've had a burnt out light fixture in our master bathroom for weeks. It's high enough that it requires a ladder to change it and the bulb is a special halogen one that requires a trip to Home Depot to purchase. It's not a big deal, but is just annoying enough that we had put it off nonetheless.You can imagine how delighted we both were to discover, after dragging out the ladder, that a new bulb didn't fix it and now, after much testing of breakers and messing with switches and fan cords, the fan isn't working either. Awesome.

But, really? That's not the point of this story.

During the process of figuring out our bathroom light was (is?) finito, I left a basket of extra bulbs on the dryer in the laundry room. About 10 minutes later Mark officially declared the bathroom light dead and mentioned that the extra bulbs had fallen off the dryer because it was running and the basket bounced right off the edge - gosh, good thinking, Susan - leaving broken glass all over the laundry room floor. I was thrilled both with my forward thinking and also the realization that I was probably going to have to clean up that mess since I had basically made it.

When I walked into the laundry room I saw that, miraculously, a whole bunch of bulbs had NOT broken, but what had shattered was one, giant compact fluorescent floodlight. You know, those bulbs that are supposed to be recycled, not just thrown in the trash, because they're full of MERCURY.

Red alert.

Mark stayed completely calm as I learned, via the wonders of the World Wide Web, that while the EPA doesn't recommend you call in a Haz-Mat team, they'll scare you right to the edge of doing just that. (EPA RECOMMENDATIONS) You can find conflicting reports on how dangerous this smashed up mercury tube really is, but the bottom line is that you're not cleaning up your run-of-the-mill broken pickle jar here.

The boys were really good while we ~~locked them in the basement~~ calmly asked them to play downstairs as we cleaned up a pile of broken glass using cardstock, duct tape and wet paper towels. The most fun part of the cleanup was that we had, in accordance with government recommendations, turned off our furnace and had opened doors for ventilation while the mercury vapor...vaporized. Cleaning the floor with numb fingers, in very tight, VERY COLD quarters was a blast. I had so much fun that I could almost forget I had possibly mercury poisoned my family.

We were eventually left with a sparkling clean laundry room floor, a whole pile of laundry, a bag and sealed jar of contaminated glass and duct tape and a lot of apprehension. Did we overreact!? Did we underreact?! Who left us home alone?!

I talked to a Hazardous Waste Expert at the city today (Hi, Tamra!) about what to do with the bag of glass and cleaning supplies that we've got sealed up sitting outside our garage. Tamra said we done good and she gave me permission to stop worrying. She assured me that the amount of mercury (dust, vapor?) in the bulb is neglibile and that the EPA suggestions are designed to move you into overreaction.

If you're still with me, I'll leave you with these thoughts...I know that these bulbs save energy and are environmentally-friendly and we're all being urged to use them in our homes. BUT, let my stupidity be a reminder. As educational as this was,you might want to consider carefully where in your house you use CFLs and remember to handle them with caution. I would also maybe ditch the mercury thermometers while you're at it. That clean up sounds even more fun.

p.s. Any brilliant suggestions about our bathroom light? It's dark in there.

From the desk of Andrew, Vol. 3

2010-12-09T20:31:00.000-06:00

Andrew's a busy guy and if you didn't already know that, all you need to do is see his to-do list to be convinced. This reminder was recently retrieved from his backpack.

This has prompted me to add something to my to-do list about keeping Andrew's load this light for as long as possible.

We've got spirit, yes we do

2010-11-30T20:51:00.003-06:00

We've dived head first into Christmas around here. The boys and I put the tree up on Friday, on Saturday all four of us took advantage of nice weather to put up outside lights and Thomas was my helper to the end on Sunday, stringing garland and lights along the staircase. [Sidenote 1: Mark and I worked together on outdoor lighting for the first time ever and were still smiling when the project was complete. It was quite possibly a Christmas miracle.] [Sidenote 2: We only broke three ornaments in the tree decorating process which, given all the help, was also probably a miracle of some sort.]

All this Christmas spirit has generated a lot of conversation about the holidays and, in particular, the big guy in the red suit. Questions I have fielded in the last four days include...

+++++++++

Andrew: How come Santa never gets older and how come he never dies?
Susan: Well, blah, blah, blah, Santa's spirit is in our hearts and he's timeless and blah, blah, blah where's your dad?

Thomas: Do the reindeers come inside the house?
Susan: No, Santa leaves them outside.
Thomas: Well, I hope he knows not to leave them in the street because there are a bunch of them and they would block the cars.

Andrew: How much do you think Santa's sack weighs?
Susan: (Not making eye contact.) I'm not sure. It depends on what toys are inside.
Andrew: (Staring me down.) Well, I don't think it really matters. He has a lot of toys inside if he has toys for the whole world. It seems like it would be really heavy...

Andrew: Do you think Santa eats all the cookies at every house?
Susan: I suppose so.
Andrew: If he eats all those millions of cookies how come he doesn't throw up?
Thomas: Because, Andrew! Santa is magical and Magical People never ever throw up!

++++++++

With our Santa question quota firmly met for the week, we're looking forward to beginning the Advent Box tomorrow. In years past we've made a game of my filling the little compartments with great secrecy so the boys never see it happen and they love to check a dozen times each day to see if there's a treat.

Tonight after dinner they disappeared into the dining room and grew suspiciously quiet after a few minutes, which obviously should have been our first sign. That makes them coming downstairs in hysterics the second sign, technically. It was then that I went to check on their work. They had been filling the advent box on their own. Each door was full of...wait for it...pepperonis. Turkey pepperonis to be exact.

We've taught them well. Nothing celebrates the reason for the season better than processed meats.

Things about which I wonder

2010-11-22T17:06:00.001-06:00

1. Does the 25 cent deposit required to use a shopping cart at Aldi actually improve cart retention? It just seems like if you really want or need to steal a shopping cart that a quarter isn't much of a barrier to acquisition.

2. I spend all day long thinking about, and missing, my boys. Yet, within minutes of being home I'm thinking I could use just a minute. Is this nature's way or my total ineptitude?!

2. How did this pencil mark land on my ktichen ceiling? No one here seems to have any idea. It's a true mystery, which actually isn't my favorite genre.

4. Is it normal for a four-year-old with a limited culinary palate to love pickles? I'm beginning to worry that he's pregnant.

From the desk of Andrew, Vol. 2

2010-11-12T20:58:00.000-06:00

It's time for another installment in the "From the desk of Andrew" series. This entry is brought to you by the letter "I," and follows closely on the heels of a parent-teacher conference where we were informed that Andrew is a good student who is reading well. We were also assured that his phonetic spelling - or lack thereof - is developmentally appropriate.

It will be shocking to learn that the area where our young pupil can strive for improvement would be in exercising self-control.

I'll leave it to your imagination to determine possible reasons why a dinosaur would be saying, "Excuse Me." I didn't ask for an explanation, because something told me that expressing any interest would be the wrong way to go here, but I'm going to guess it has something to do with the cloud emanating from his backside.

Overheard

2010-11-04T17:03:00.000-05:00

The boys were heading outside to jump on the trampoline and were generally pushing and shoving their way to the deck. When they opened the door the dog jumped up to come inside and Andrew SCREAMED at his brother, "Get out of the way. You're being rude. You need to let the dog come inside right now."

Thomas responded, "Yeah. I know. Ladies first. I know, Andrew."

With that, they escorted the dog inside and went dashing into the yard.

From the desk of Andrew...

2010-11-02T19:52:00.000-05:00

He's become a prolific letter writer. I look forward to emptying his backpack each evening because treasures like this often flow forth! I believe this installment proves he has taken my threat that there will be no more Silly Bands and no more Pokemon cards in our home quite seriously.

Halloween and other scary things

2010-11-01T22:29:00.001-05:00

Halloween was a weeks-long series of pumpkin patching, carnivals, parties and trick-or-treating this year and it was also a series of costumes for Thomas. We visited the pumpkin patch twice - once with Thomas' class and once with Grandpa and Grandma.

We started the festivities a week in advance at Thomas' school carnival where the kids play games to win prizes and generally marvel at seeing their teachers in costumes.

On Friday both boys had parties at school and for this event Thomas decided he would be a football player rather than wear the skeleton costume that he had begged to have for weeks. In a rare moment of knowing that I should choose my battles, I agreed to let him switch costumes, as we had all the parts lying around the house anyway.

He initially planned to be a "Texas Longhorn football boy" but had another change of plans late on Thursday when a classmate told him that if he was a Longhorn she wouldn't marry him. After a conversation - wherein I basically told him that while this "friend" is cute and nice, I would hope that the girl he might someday choose to marry would not threaten him over his wardrobe choices - he was not dissuaded. He spent Friday as the Jayhawks' #10. Saturday found him back in the Texas jersey for the bulk of the day but by Sunday he had again decided that he's a Jayhawk at heart.

We trick-or-treated with neighbors and after 15 short minutes Thomas announced that he thought he had enough candy so Andrew carried on with the tribe and Thomas and I returned home to have dinner with our friends, the Wards, and hand-out treats at our house. Everyone was happy with that plan. Andrew came home an hour later with a bushel basket full of candy and riding high on the idea that he had been wandering the streets after dark.

This afternoon has seen them sorting their haul, trading treasures and giving me the things that have peanuts, which is a very generous test of my willpower. They both consumed way too much chocolate after school today but isn't that kind of what November 1st is all about?

In other frightening notes...

I walked a full block down an alley in Downtown Lawrence today thinking that someone was following me because I was hearing jingling. I kept looking over my shoulder, but nothing. As I bounded up the stairs to my office I heard it again. That's when I realized that my predator was my own necklace.
I pretty much utterly failed by forgetting to snap a picture of my costumed boys pre-begging last night. I'll see if I can talk them into dressing up as football players just one more time this week to document the look. Considering that they would wear the jerseys to bed if I let them, I'm not thinking it will be a challenge.
Also? Mark had a birthday last week. We're not allowed to discuss it or celebrate it or acknowledge it in any way but the boys really felt like we needed to get him some sort of gift. Thomas was adamant that this would be exactly what daddy needed and that it would help him a lot. Having no better suggestion from the birthday boy, he was gifted with this beauty when he arrived home from a work week in Atlanta.

It's a pooper scooper.

Happy Birthday, Hondo! We love you!

Our marching Jayhawk

2010-10-23T22:59:00.003-05:00

Today was KU Homecoming and while the Jayhawks' play on the football field has left much to be desired during the last few weeks, we don't mind because today was all about the pre-game.

As previously mentioned, Thomas' preschool teacher, the fabulous Miss Lori, somehow sleuthed out an opportunity for her class to march in the Homecoming Parade. The parade is lead down Jayhawk Boulevard from the Union to the Chi Omega fountain by the KU Marching Band and is composed mostly of floats built by Greek organizations, honored award recipients and the alumni band.

While it is possible that I'm a bit biased, I'm pretty sure this year's parade show was stolen by the addition of the Pre 2 marching all-stars.

Each child in Thomas' class was assigned a job either as a banner carrier, trumpeter, flutist, sousaphone player or drummer. Thomas' assignment as a trumpet player should come as no surprise, given his Louis Armstrong tendencies.

The kids were involved in this project from start to finish and they helped make their "instruments," decorated their visors and then learned about the instruments they were carrying. Thomas learned, for example, that a trumpet is "kind of like a mellophone but it's really a horn with a bigger bell." All fourteen students also walked the full mile route on their own leg power, which is a feat in and of itself.

The awesome Miss Lori and the part-time staff, who are KU students and voluntarily participated in this!, corraled the kids along the entire route, freeing up the parents to be spectators which was a total treat. We all met our marching geniuses at the end of the parade and then had a group tailgate on the hill. Both boys had more fun than should be legal playing football on the hill with their friends, eating hot dogs and generally messing around.

As a special bonus, Thomas got to meet a real KU Marching Band trumpet player, thanks to the kindness of one of his teachers, Kirsten, who played in the band for four years. His name was Josh and after he serenaded Thomas with the KU fight song, he was kind enough to pose for a picture. I don't have his permission to post this but he told me that the thought the kids were the best part of the parade so I'm hoping this will meet with his approval.

After all of this fun, the Jayhawks played some football I think but we'll choose not to dwell on that. Instead, I'll choose to remember it from Thomas' perspective. On the walk back to the car I asked him what his favorite thing was about the parade and the tailgate he said, "Well, just all of it!"

Well said.

Selective hearing

2010-10-16T12:51:00.000-05:00

Mark and I were preparing lunch today when we heard from overhead a LOUD thud, immediately followed by clattering and then...total silence from upstairs. About 90 seconds later Andrew appeared in the living room and sat down in a chair with no apparent purpose.

Mark: "Andrew, what was that noise?"

Andrew: "What noise?"
Mark: "The one that was so loud it shook the ceiling and the neighbors probably heard it."

Andrew: "I don't know. I didn't hear it."

Guilty as charged

2010-10-06T20:14:00.002-05:00

In addition to learning about Fire Safety this month at school, Andrew's class is starting on a unit about Stranger Danger and Drug & Alcohol Awareness. It's a sad world, y'all.

I guess the good news is that even in this time of lean budgets, Andrew's school still has a full-time social worker who helps the teachers with this curriculum. Today's lesson was a really good one. I think we can all agree that kids should refuse prescription medications, alcohol, drugs and tobacco. And, we can probably agree that adults should never abuse those things.

However, how am I to respond when my son comes home and informs me that I need to stop doing drugs. The drug about which he's concerned? Caffeine.

Really? Are we taking this too far?

If you need me I'll be huddled in the corner of my kitchen sneaking sips of coffee and Coke, Coca-Cola that is.

Our marching Jayhawk

2010-09-29T10:35:00.001-05:00

Thomas' class is learning about marching bands this week, in preparation for getting to participate in the KU Homecoming Parade next month. One of his teachers is a former KU Band member and her sister is apparently still in band, so they visited Pre 2 yesterday with their instruments. The sousaphone made quite an impression!

He could hardly wait to get home and get out the trumpet to wow us with his ability to play the KU Fight Song. Please excuse the shaking camera; it's difficult to film while convulsing with laughter.

Click here for the video.

The Happiness Project

2010-09-27T20:32:00.000-05:00

The Happiness Project is one of my most neglected online bookmarks. You have to be in the right mood to really want to be happy and certainly in the right mood to really want to have someone tell you how to feel it. It's a great website, but I don't visit it all that often. In all honesty? Sometimes I'm just not in the mood to read about how simple it is to feel blissfully, ignorantly happy. (How's that for "ray of sunshine?")

However, when I visit I'm reminded that the first step is to be conscious of the feeling when you have it. With that said, here are the things that have made me happy today.

1. Coffee.
2. My grandmother knowing what Andrew ate for lunch because she keeps track of the school lunches in the newspaper.
3. Thomas explaining to our collective hair stylist what he wants to be for Halloween in such detail that she put down the scissors and turned away from him because she was in hysterics.
4. My grandmother knowing who Brandy is because she likes her on Dancing With The Stars. Grandma's 89.
5. The Real Housewives of wherever. If those women can't make you feel good about your own version of crazy I don't know what would.
6. Mileage checks. I really know better, but it feels like free money.
7. Thomas throwing his arms around Andrew upon our arrival at school, yelling to his friends on the playground, "Hey, guys! My Andrew's here to get me!"

How about you?

Points to ponder - Tuesday edition

2010-09-21T21:39:00.001-05:00

1. I calculate that there are 1,440 minutes in a day. Of that time, I estimate that I ~~lie in bed staring at the ceiling~~ sleep for approximately 480 minutes. After spending an average of 10 minutes each morning in the shower, I dedicate the next 80 minutes to getting dressed and ready for work, preparing breakfast, locating backpacks and lunches and driving the kids to school and myself to work. Once there I spend the next 390 minutes ~~wishing I was someplace else~~ working diligently.

I've checked it twice, because math isn't my strong suit, but the way that works out would indicate that from the time I leave work I still have exactly as many minutes left in my day as I typically use for sleep. Hmmm. I wonder where those go?

2. We have a trampoline in the backyard that the boys spend a lot of time in - bouncing, talking, laughing, fighting, laughing and bouncing some more. Unfortunately, the net has taken a beating. That's due, probably in equal parts, to the boys bouncing against it, whipping Kansas winds, questionable construction and one unfortunate incident wherein Thomas ripped a hole in it with a plastic golf club while friends were visiting because he was, and I quote, "building a bigger living room in the trampoline for Molly." (Who says chivalry is dead?)

Until now I have been able to repair the tears with cord and keep it operational but last weekend it tore at the top and I can't reach it. Then the whipping winds came and the small tear became a gaping hole and I'm out of ideas. I went online today to see about ordering a new net. It turns out that's not an economical solution. How can a new net cost 2/3 as much as a whole new trampoline and why am I not in the trampoline biz?

3. I took the boys to Home Depot today. I love Home Depot. I love the way it smells, I love the idea of potential projects and I love the orange aprons their employees wear with their names written on them in black magic marker. Thomas and Andrew love to sit on the lawnmowers out front.

Our mission today was to buy one gallon of paint. During the short time it should take to accomplish that task we visited their restroom twice and revisited the question of why I sit down on a toilet. Why can we rarely accomplish everything that needs to happen in a restroom in our own home and also, why can't we synchronize?

Testosterone

2010-09-14T20:17:00.000-05:00

Words to strike terror in any mother's heart...

Andrew: "Thomas, want to go jump on the trampoline?"

Thomas: "Yeah. And then do you want to do the game called 'Spin the other brother all around and around and around?'"

Andrew: "YES!"

Oy.

Ten!

2010-09-02T20:50:00.001-05:00

On this day 10 years ago it was 106 degrees here in Lawrence and we gathered 200 or so of our sweatiest friends and family for a wedding. Today it's 70 and rainy, so go figure. Other than that, and the fact that we have two testosterone-laden human beings living in our house, everything pretty much remains the same; I'm
still married to my best friend.

Happy 10th Anniversary to us! (I couldn't find a bottle with a 10, so we
improvised. The traditional 10th Anniversary gift is aluminum so it works.)

We've certainly had little itty-bitty glimpses in the last decade of exactly what "for better or for worse," and "in sickness and in health" look like, but have really just been so very fortunate. (As I type, those little testosterone machines are in the other room giggling hysterically, and that alone is an amazing gift.)

Tomorrow evening we're headed out to a celebratory dinner, as I think we should be, because I can't think of many other things that either of us have stuck with for 10 years! I'll be wearing a beautiful new necklace that I was surprised with this evening and will be proud and happy to be with my love.

Happy Anniversary, Hondo! Here's to the next ten years.

Love, Me

Satellite parking

2010-08-28T09:38:00.000-05:00

Eleventy dollars. That's how much Thomas told me it costs to park in the lot that's adjacent to the boys' living room airport. When they used teamwork to drag the entire basket of cars from the basement to the living room because they had already used all the cars upstairs, I should have been suspicious. Instead, I was cooking dinner. And, obviously not paying much attention because I was genuinely surprised when they showed me this:

The airport centered on the use of the coffeetable as a parking garage and the new lego plane that Andrew recently built, which I'm told is a 747.

Thomas even made many trips between the kitchen and living room with his toy coffeepot bringing coffee to the "airport worker," his brother, who I'm not sure was appropriately thankful for that kind of tarmac-side service.

Getting it together

2010-08-26T21:39:00.002-05:00

I would dearly love to be one of those people who always has it together. We all know them. They're the people who always look put together, who multitask seamlessly, whose kids are always happy (and without food on their faces) and they certainly always say the right thing. I have moments of delusion where I feel as if I have the tiger by the tail, but it always comes crashing down.

Today was no exception.

My most entertaining not-so-on-top-of-it moment for today came in phases and started over my lunch hour when I ran into one of Andrew's classmates and his dad in the Toy Store. I was there because my nephew, with whom I had lunched, had earned himself a new airplane. I spoke to this friend of Andrew's and his dad and learned that the child was "sick" but had started antibiotics and so his dad - as only dads are apt to do - had brought him to the toy store to kill time and to touch every toy in sight to ensure that others will also soon be diagnosed with strep throat. I wished him well and told him I hoped he felt better and that we would miss him at soccer practice tonight but that I hoped he would feel up to playing on Saturday at their first game.

This afternoon when I picked Andrew up from school he told me his friend was sick today and I, as only someone who totally has it together could, told him I already knew that because I had seen his friend downtown and was sorry he wouldn't be at soccer practice. Andrew began to laugh and then said, "Of course he won't be at soccer. He's not on my team this season, don't you remember?"

Of course I do. [ahem...] Right. That was last season. That would likely explain the confused look that this child's father flashed my way in the Toy Store.

Oh well, I tried.

Really?

2010-08-13T11:30:00.000-05:00

Really?

Apparently whomever owns this bike that's parked in my work parking lot is new to Downtown Lawrence. It appears they believe they will save a parking spot with this bike. I'm thinking they'll lose the spot and the bike, but that's just me guessing.

Whoosh

2010-08-10T21:47:00.000-05:00

Many of you already know this, but gosh, time flies.

I know this in part because it's been three+ weeks since I've turned any of the dozens of blog posts I compose in my head on a daily basis into a reality here. During that time we've taken an excellent vacation to California, celebrated several birthdays and generally tried to wring the life out of summer. There's lots I should share.

I know it also because tomorrow this boy goes to first grade.

I owe him a birthday post where I share how wonderful I think he is and how much I love his constant curiosity and his ever-growing command of the English language and his willingness to try new things. I need an hour to sit down and document how we're simultaneously so much alike and so totally different and how I love him for all of that and how good he is for me. I don't have that hour tonight because the labeling of new school supplies and backpacks calls, but suffice it to say that I couldn't be more proud of this boy who is going to first grade tomorrow.

It seems darn near impossible that he could be ready for that but the fact that he's reading and writing and doing math in his head would indicate otherwise. I don't know that I'm ready but, fortunately or unfortunately, these things aren't left up to mothers. All I can do is hope he figures out how to painlessly manuever the school lunch system and look forward to the report tomorrow afternoon.

Look out first grade. Here he comes!

You wanna piece of me?

2010-07-14T10:21:00.001-05:00

I logged into hondo with the intent of documenting my recent 48 hours in Andover, Kansas, where the boys and I just spent a couple of days with four of my college friends and their kids.

However, imagine my surprise to find that someone had hijacked my blogger identity in my absence. Apparently someone who was left behind had a little free time and decided to tweak the look of hondo by removing the barb wire background and inserting some bluebirds and other chirpy looking images. I had kind of been meaning to find a new, less abrasive look for this little online journal I keep, but when I saw the birds and swirls I realized that I really kind of like the barb wire. In fact, I think I had really rounded the corners too much with the pink. You'll now be treated to a new and improved tough girl look that's a little more streamlined. Pink is for sissies.

I also realized upon looking at the pathetic pictures I took with my phone - since I forgot the real camera - that I have very little in the way of photos to do justice to this excursion. The good news there is that I certainly didn't live this trip behind the camera! The basic story is this: five women who met in 1991, eight kids, beautiful golf course lodge, dozens of frogs, hours of swimming, some wine, some margartias, very little sleep and more than a few trips down memory lane...you get the picture.

In the last 48 hours I've been reminded of some wonderful truths:

The later the grown-ups go to bed, the earlier the kids will wake.

Kids can play together for hours and never stop to be bothered by the fact that they can't remember one another's names. At various times in the last 48 hours our collective children were referred to by each other as "that one"; "the other one"; "the boy who has the same shirt as me"; "that girl who lives in Colorado" and "the girl with the really bad cough."

(I like to call this the Yalta Conference. I don't know what was being discussed but it was very important.)

A good friend is one who has seen you at your worst and your best and still offers to help check your child's hair for ticks in the dark while said child sleeps, because other still-awake children have been discovered to have acquired some on their frog catching expedition.

Tiny, adorable frogs caught from a golf course pond will not all survive the excitement of being trapped into a suntea jar and then transferred to separate water bottles. It will at first seem excessive to trap 25 of them for eight kids but those numbers actually work out in the end. Some of them will literally be encouraged to death during frog races.

When left with some unsupervised free time, older, cooler kids will teach the younger, more impressionable ones some neat tricks like armpit farting. Anyone who encounters Andrew in the next month should be prepared to squelch this new activity.

It's amazing how none of us have really aged in 19 years and yet we have all these kids.

Sunsets in the country are more beautiful and we were treated to a spectacular one on Monday night to which the old Blackberry camera couldn't really do justice.

Friends really are, in so many ways, a kind of family you choose.

Hello, my name is

2010-07-11T10:14:00.000-05:00

We have a new addition to the family here at the House of Hondo. Andrew celebrated a fabulous 7th birthday this week and this little guy was one of his gifts.

Meet Redtail.

Thomas went with me to select the actual fish and to choose the rocks for the bottom as a birthday surprise. We of course had to be ready to unveil our new fishy friend within minutes of Andrew's return to the house because there was no way T was going to be able to keep this secret for even a minute longer.

So far, Redtail seems happy in his new home and I can assure you he'll be well fed since they have both already asked twice today if it's time for him to eat. I only hope the enthusiasm will continue when it's time to clean the bowl.

Swing, batter, batter

2010-07-07T22:09:00.002-05:00

Last night concluded Andrew's rookie season of Parks & Rec. T-Ball. I have to say that six-year-old boys playing t-ball are pretty much adorable. They all look alike with their little bird-like legs, Parks & Rec. issued t-ball jersey and batting helmets. It can be difficult to tell them apart, but gosh darn if they aren't cute.

Aside from their common physical appearances, they also display a number of common interests. They all, without exception, love to kick dirt. This is even more fun if you've been asked repeatedly to stop. They also love to spit water. They drink some of it, but a fair amount of it ends up on the ground. They also love to climb fences; backstop fence, outfield fence, neighboring tennis court fence, they're all good.

Andrew has enjoyed t-ball, but I don't think that he's loved t-ball. He loves the batting and running part. He just doesn't really love the standing and waiting part. Playing outfield is decidedly not his pace and he just kind of endures it. He also frequently spaces out and watches birds and talks to his teammates. He has to be frequently reminded by his coaches to open his glove.

I have learned this season that, in t-ball, the batter has a decided advantage. The likelihood of the batter making solid contact with the ball is good; it's on a tee after all. The likelihood of the fielding team to ever touch the ball before the batter has rounded first, or even second, is slim. It's more likely that they will be out in left field wrestling each other for the ball. There are no shut-outs in t-ball and there aren't even low scores. It's a homerun derby most nights.

Andrew was particularly squirrely last night. He was guilty of the aforementioned dirt kicking, chant-leading, fence climbing and water spitting all just while waiting to bat in the first inning. And, when I approached the bench to remind him to pay attention to what was happening on the field, he became guilty of talking to me in a cool guy voice to impress his friends that was, well, less than impressive.

Finally we reached the bottom of the third and final inning and Andrew was sent to field as the "pitcher." Given his antics and general lack of focus I was fearing for his teeth and gritting mine, hoping to high heaven he would at least quit kicking dirt and pretending to pitch long enough to open the glove and feign interest for a few minutes.

Soon after the start of the lineup, he jumped out of nowhere and grabbed the ball and ran to tag someone approaching third. Never mind that his coaches were screaming at him to throw to first. In typical Andrew fashion, he thought he knew better. It worked, but I was kind of mortified that he had blatantly disregarded the yelling of three grown men.

That sets the stage for the collective surprise when, on the next play, he actually fielded a ball and successfully threw it to first without prompting. That's where his teammate - get ready for this - caught it for an out. They did this three times in a row to finish out the inning. He and his buddy, Jackson the first baseman, couldn't stop congratulating each other.

I'm taking mom license to tell of this feat because I'm certain they couldn't repeat it if they tried and it did shatter some basic tenets of t-ball. In the meantime, he has been able to put his feet back on the ground and I only heard him tell the story once today.

This afternoon I asked him what had been his favorite thing about t-ball. I prompted that maybe it had been running bases, or learning to bat, or learning to play outfield. Nope. His favorite part he said, without hesitation, was "hanging out" which I'll assume is code for "climbing fences and kicking dirt."

If, then

2010-06-30T20:47:00.002-05:00

Surveying the hoagie roll waiting on his dinner plate, Andrew asked what kind of seeds were on the top of the bun. I told him they were sesame seeds and never made eye contact because I really didn't want them to become an issue.

He was quiet for a minute and then said, "So, I guess sesame seeds must grow into bun plants?"

Keeping the day job

2010-06-26T19:36:00.001-05:00

I have often thought that someday I'll quit my day job and embark on some new career that's completely unrelated to the way in which I currently earn a living. I still may. Let me assure you, however, that leap will not be into lawncare.

Mark is feeling much better, but is still under doctor's orders not to ride his bike, do any lifting or engage in twisting motions like those used in swinging a golf club or starting a lawn mower. Our lawn did not get that memo and has continued to grow unchecked in the last week. This morning he mentioned that he was going to need me to help him start the mower so he could take care of the tallgrass prairie we call a yard.

Thinking that was not a good idea, I suggested we contact our backup plan, the college student who mows next door, but we only know how to reach him via e-mail, which he doesn't appear to check more than once every couple of days. Because it's supposed to be hotter tomorrow than today, and then supposed to rain in the evening, Mark felt strongly that it needed to happen today. I tried to walk away from the conversation but it became increasingly clear that I was going to have to bite the bullet and do it myself if I couldn't come up with a better idea.

Fast forward two hours and I found myself in the garage getting a lesson in how to start our mower.

I know you're thinking that I should already know how to do that. You're right. I believe, however, that I last mowed when I was in about the 8th grade, which amounts to about 23 years of water under the bridge. I needed a refresher. Once Mark talked me through the basics of starting it and employing the self-propel feature, he headed inside to hang with the boys and I was off and running. Being a relatively intelligent person in relatively good physical shape I was confident that I could knock out the yard in time to eat a late lunch; that's why what happened during the next two hours was totally surprising.

It wasn't pretty, folks.

I started in the front and side yards and within minutes had ditched Mark's suggestion for what pattern to use. I quickly decided that whatever pattern required the least actual pivoting of the mower would be best. I had also decided that I don't like my neighbor as much as I used to think I did, because he stood in his yard laughing at me and yelled a few encouraging phrases which pretty much made me just want to run my mower up over his feet. By the time I finished the front yard I had worn blisters on my thumbs and I was bleeding. So far, things were going great.

I went inside for a drink of water and Mark suggested a break. It might have been the beet red quality of my face that was concering or perhaps my language regarding my neighbor? Quitting sounded good but I knew that if I didn't go back out right then that it wasn't happening today. When I started mowing it was 88 degrees and at this point it was 90; no time to waste.

I perservered for the next hour, at which point it was 92 degrees and I had mostly mowed the yard. I say mostly because as you'll notice below, if you look carefully, it's possible I might have missed a few spots. I was hurrying.

The things I learned today include the fact that mowing is more difficult than it looks, gloves might have been a good idea, our yard is clearly way too big and whatever genius decided we should place swingsets and trees and trampolines in our backyard should definitely be fired.

p.s. the barb wire stays until the thumbs are healed.

Blog as barometer

2010-06-18T14:28:00.002-05:00

I logged on to my sister's blog yesterday and was greeted by a beautiful new layout and design. I was instantly jealous because I've meant, for months, to do something to jazz up the hondo layout, but had figured I needed Photoshop, which I only have access to at work. Because my parents raised me with a completely annoying work ethic, I just hadn't been comfortable doing that on my employer's time.

Imagine my delight when I fired up the laptop from home today and was offered access to approximately a gajillion new layout tools from Blogger. To that I say, it's about time! After perusing some options I've settled on this one for today. I anticipate this will change frequently because changing your blog to match your mood has just been made way too easy.

So, yeah. Barb wire. I tried to soften it with the touches of pink. Is it working? The last few days have been the kind that leave you pleading with your children not to grow up too quickly because being a grown up ain't all it's cracked up to be. Or, perhaps I just max out too quickly in the responsibility department and we should hire out that part of their training for the future?

Mark had an outpatient surgery on Wednesday and, with a couple of huge assists from Grandpa and Grandma, the day went well. Then came Thursday, which is when it started to feel a bit like the wheels were coming off the cart. I woke up at 5:30 Thursday morning to the unmistakable sound of a sick creature. My first thought was that it must be Mark but quickly realized that it was the dog. She will hereafter be referred to as the damn dog.

I rushed her outside after one heave on the carpet and thought we had dodged a big bullet. I stumbled back to the couch upon which I was sleeping - so that I could be close to Mark who had chosen to sleep on the other couch for post-surgery comfort - and realized that what I was smelling couldn't be right. It turns out that I hadn't woken for the main part of the damn dog's show, which started on the stairs and trailed throughout our home. Awesome.

It only took about four hours to steam clean the carpet, which is when I got to work on cleaning up the deck where she had continued her puke fest after I put her outside. Mark suggested that I might go walk the backyard to see if we could tell what in heaven's name she had eaten to make her this sick. I didn't find a thing except for the discovery that the previous evening's torrential rains had washed several cubic yards of mulch away from the swingset, into the grass and up against the fence. The day was getting even better.

Enter Grandma, who offered to come help me with the shovel and rake brigade to get the mulch back where it belonged before it washed into the neighbor's yard, never to be seen again. But? Before I ever lifted a finger I went in the house to check on my patients and discovered that the human one was very uncomfortable and nauseous and the canine one, who was trapped in the kitchen, was wheezing and drooling uncontrollably. That's when I took her to the vet while my mom AND dad moved mulch and kept an eye on the post-surgery situation playing out in the living room.

She only barfed once in the car and I had to drag her inside the office. I left her in their capable hands, telling them I couldn't stay because I needed to get home for Mark. That was partly true but it's also possible I've never been so happy to part company with another living being. We needed a break from one another. I returned home to find that super mom and dad had pretty much fixed the mulch situation, reseated the weed mat that was tangled in the mud and that my dad had gone to buy a few extra bags of mulch to secure the perimeter. Thanks be.

When the vet called at 5 p.m. to say that they couldn't find anything technically wrong with the damn dog and that I could come get her but that she was still having "loose stools" (sorry) and I would need to go buy her some Pepcid and cook some rice dish for her to eat, I did what any loving pet owner who is staring down the barrel of night two with her post-op husband and a looming t-ball practice. I bought her a night at Spa Animal Hospital. She's being bathed before her return. I hope she enjoyed her stay. She is truly the best last dog we've ever owned.

Mark is trying to rally this afternoon but it's a little slow going. When you see the barb wire replaced with roses you'll know we're fully back amongst the living.

Identity crisis

2010-06-10T18:39:00.000-05:00

Andrew's summer camp classroom has been home to a mouse for the last year. This was the same room in which he spent his afternoons during the school year and Harold the mouse was like a class mascot. The kids loved him and their teacher was a very good caretaker. That teacher has, however, departed to attend veterinary school and their new teacher apparently isn't fond of pet mice and has decided that Harold can't stay.

Andrew got in the car after school this afternoon completely distraught because another family at the school removed Harold from the premises today in a butter container, bound for his new home. He reports that Harold is going home to Grace's house to live in a new cage that is...the horror of it...pink. It is also rumored to have a picture on the top of a mouse wearing...a tutu. And? The biggest injustice? Harold is going to have a new name. From here forward he will be referred to as...Cupcake.

Andrew's not happy.

What she said

2010-06-08T21:46:00.002-05:00

We visited the Life Rocks family in Virginia last week. We stayed for six days and six nights which felt to me like they whizzed by and possibly felt as though they moved slightly slower for the people in whose house we were staying. We did double their household population for nearly a week and the youngest of us did bring with him a brewing case of what was diagnosed mid-week at an Urgent Care facility as bronchitis-with-yucky-attitude-and-flaming-fever.

I had fully intended to document our trip when we returned with photos and narrative but it turns out we forgot our camera and were reliant upon Mark's phone. And? My sister already did it. I should really not just link to her work, and had fought the urge for a full 24 hours, but then she went and sold me out as the crappy driver that I am today. Also, she insinuated that she's a faster learner, so guess what I've learned? Me have learned how to link if me thinks someone else already did me's work for me.

Check out this and this for her rundown. Go ahead. I'll wait. When you come back you can read my trip highlights as filler.

The highlights for me were:

Watching a baby girl eat her body weight in "free" blueberries. (We underfilled other containers to make up for her shoplifting tendencies.)
Hearing my nephew tell us that he loves us. It's just something of which you don't tire.
Watching the three boys play together in a much healthier fashion than last time they were together.
Receiving the full-on tour of Uncle Jeff's jet and squadron and seeing an F-22 demo flight then knowing later that Andrew really did kind of "get" how special that opportunity was.
Seeing my sister and Andrew bond over their shared love of collecting shells, rocks, etc.
Riding in my sister's ~~Wave Runner~~ Camry on the James River Bridge. I know she referenced it, but I really can't do justice to how seasick and amused we were by the time we reached the other side.
H&M with the girls. Girl time is good.
Andrew reading books to the little boys when they woke up too early to come out of their room.
Learning that Andrew thought he was the luckiest guy in the house the night that we took T to the doctor because he got to stay home with Aunt Steph and she let him stay up to watch television with her after the little ones went to bed.
The fact that the boys watched a DVRd episode of Wipeout, in its entirety, at least three times during the week.
Taking an afternoon nap with Thomas. Simple pleasures.
My sister's cooking. She does this thing where she plans whole meals in advance and then begins preparing said meals more than 30 minutes before she wants them on the table. I might have to try it because they were delicious.
Riding in the car with Andrew and Natalie and watching them entertain one another in the sweetest way. It might have been wishful thinking but I'm pretty sure she was saying his name.
Riding on a ferry because ferries are just cool.
Hearing Thomas and Wyatt discuss whether they believed we would indeed have to drive backwards all the way home when we missed the ferry, as we backed off the bridge lest we get stuck there for the hour wait.
Wyatt pledging allegiance to the flag - any flag.
Listening to Wyatt correct Uncle Mark's lyrics to "Proud To Be An American."
Getting in the car to drive the two littlest boys and learning that when Uncle Mark chauffered he entertained them by telling stories about his imaginary friend, Bob, who had apparently been a trouble passenger. Bob was, as far as I could tell, a laugh riot.
That quiet time after kids went to bed and grownups watched tv, watched movies and generally conversed like grownups do.
A night on the town in Virginia Beach. If you get a chance to see Damon Wayans, take it. He's funny.
Jeff bathing kids in their skivvies in the front yard. They'll likely never forget it.
Knowing that we get to soak up more Rock time in the next 18 months.

Because we've established that I'm a lazy, slow-learning linker, do go check out the photos we have in the flickr sidebar. They feature four pretty cute kids if I do say so myself.

Points to ponder

2010-05-26T21:13:00.002-05:00

Thomas just entered the kitchen and said to Mark, in an authoritative tone, "Andrew is a first grader now but he's still in the bathroom jumping up and down because he needs to make a potty and that is rediclious, because Andrew is a first grader now and he is really going to have to work on that."

And...scene.

The lady doth protest too much, methinks

2010-05-24T22:02:00.002-05:00

It turns out that my neighbors, the ones that aren't garage sale people? They aren't, until they see one in action and then it seems they're attracted to them like moths to a flame. Saturday was Garage Sale Day at House Hondo and from the minute that preparations began my high falutin' neighbors just couldn't stay away from the action.

On Wednesday Mr. Neighbor wandered over to compliment me on my mad classified ad writing skillz. How would he know about my gift of the oversell? He always reads the newpaper classifieds.

On Thursday he came over to see how the clean-out was going and informed that he would never have one of these because he didn't want to have to clean his garage for strangers. I told him he had one day left to haul his merchandise northward and he assured me that he wasn't interested - until an hour later when he and Mrs. Neighbor came hauling a child's Cozy Coupe and three enormous black garbage bags full of treasure into my garage.

I hadn't been outside for more than 10 minutes on Friday morning before he came strolling over to see how things were going. He came back two more times that day just to survey my work. Later that day someone stopped by who knew that the sale was advertised for Saturday but wondered if they could look early. Guess what they puchased first? That's right. A Cozy Coupe.

Saturday morning came and within an hour of opening the doors, Mr. Neighbor was back for a visit. Despite my apparent finesse with the classified ad, I really can't effectively put words to how delighted I was to hand him a $5 bill for his trouble. He protested accepting it for about 0.3 seconds and then practically skipped back home waving his green-tinted Lincoln.

An hour later Mrs. Neighbor appeared. She brought a gift of Coca-Cola because when she sent Mr. Neighbor to the grocery store that morning he wanted to get us a treat for our trouble. She stayed for the better part of 20 minutes quite obviously totally intrigued.

A bit later we sold some more of their goodies and so, just basically to entertain myself and my mom, I sent the boys next door with another $2. They returned with Mr. Neighbor and the Neighbor Kids, who went to play in our yard. That left Mr. Neighbor back in our garage playing Chatty Kathy.

All in all the Garage Sale of 2010 was a success. We found happy homes for a lot of things that we no longer needed or wanted and people paid us to haul them away. By 5 p.m. last night I was able to get the car back in the garage and after one more trip to a social service agency this week the mess will be completely gone.

Special sale shout outs go to:

my mom, without whom I would have bailed on the project at about 10 a.m. on Friday when preparing all the mess was overwhelming me
my dad, who removed Andrew and Thomas from the premises for most of the morning making it possible to have strangers remove their outgrown toys
Mark, who never complained about the fact that I brought the wrong bike into the house for easy access, forcing him to ride a second-tier bike on Saturday morning and exit through a throng of bargain shoppers while wearing full-on lycra and a helmet
Thomas, for wearing Grandma's "money belt" with pride upon his return and for being the best sale helper that any four-year-old has ever been
The Neighbors, for participating in one of the most entertaining sociology experiments I've ever witnessed!

It takes so little

2010-05-14T22:03:00.005-05:00

I'm sometimes kind of easily amused but these moments have entertained me in the last few days.

Yesterday I reminded Andrew that his school year was coming to a close and he needed to soak up all that Mrs. Bowman had to teach him in the remaining 10 days of class. He looked at me and said without hesitation, "Oh, I would except I'm pretty sure we're done learning this year." I assured him that probably wasn't the case and he responded by telling me that he had been watching and Mrs. Bowman hadn't taught him anything new in five days so he was pretty sure that meant he was all done.

It is surely a burden to know everything at six-and-a-half.

+++++++++++++
Mark was trying to tell Thomas goodnight and this is the thanks he got tonight. "Daddy, I don't want you to kiss me goodnight until you decide to shave off those 'worse-kers.' They're scratchy. They're the worstest worse-kers. You need to go cut those off your face."

+++++++++++++

I had my last stint as a volunteer in Andrew's kindergarten class this morning. The teacher was experiencing a technology glitch and, in an act of desperation, she asked me to play Simon Says with the kids to keep them engaged for a couple of minutes while she worked through the problem. I immediately had 20 smiling faces glued to me waiting to see how I would perform. As I stood up, Andrew said loudly, "Oh, you guys, my mom is really good at Simon says!" eliciting cheers from his friends.

It's so good to know I have a marketable skill set for the future.

+++++++++++++

I've hesitated to document this last one because at least one grandma will likely NOT be amused but this has become the digital babybook and I need to record this for future blackmail purposes.

On Monday morning, Thomas entered the bathroom while I was showering and was laughing hysterically, asking if he could pee in the shower. I redirected him to the toilet, which was a whole four feet away. When I got out of the shower I reminded him that we potty in the toilet only and he said, still laughing hysterically, "But Andrew peed in the sump pump!"

What?

On the previous Saturday evening we had employed a babysitter for the boys. Apparently Super Sally was playing hide-and-seek with them and the boys were in the storage room, very proud of themselves for being someplace where they didn't think Sally would find them. (I'm sure they had been so quiet getting there that she would never have thought to look...) Andrew decided he needed to use the restroom but didn't want to leave the safety of his hideout so, in an act of genius, peed in the sump pump instead. This was, as you might guess, wildly entertaining to his brother who had kept that secret for 36 hours but couldn't keep it a moment longer.

Needless to say we had a little talk about that and I don't think he'll do it again but this has to be top of the list of things you never thought you would have to actually say out loud as a parent.

Of pledging

2010-05-07T19:03:00.001-05:00

First, thank you all for having my back on the garage sale thing. I feel so loved knowing you would offer your pork rinds and travel trailers and toilet planters just to support me as I junk up the neighborhood. I should state that my neighbor is really a very good neighbor, snotty comments aside. She's not someone with whom I will ever be best friends but will loan me an egg if I need it and would bail us out in a crunch anytime. She's also home a lot which is really a bonus when we're not because she's very ~~nosy~~ observant.

Anywho.

Mother's Day is saturating the airwaves this week and I've heard several funny Mother's Day bits on the radio in recent days. One involved a local station giving away hotel rooms for one, as a Mother's Day treat to the moms with the most convincing stories indicating that all they really need is a break from their families. Another station today was giving away spa packages to moms who called in with the most embarrassing kid stories. I think that had I called and reported something Andrew did a couple of weeks ago I could have been a candidate.

KU's new football coach has committed to run a "clean" program, which means that his entire staff has pledged not to use foul language with players, not to condone any alcohol or drug use and to generally encourage players to behave like reasonable human beings. At the recent spring game, Coach Gill asked the adults in the stands to take a pledge with him stating, among other things, that we would act as role models for the youth in our lives. As we were repeating after him, phrase by phrase, we got to the part about not condoning alcohol use by anyone under the age of 21, for any reason.

That's when Andrew turned around, stuck his arm out and put his pointer finger in the air, aimed right at Mark and said, in his loudest outdoor voice, "But, Dad! You gave me beer once. Don't you remember!? You shouldn't do that!"

Needless to say I didn't finish the pledge, what with how I was doubled over laughing and dying of embarrassment. People around us seemed to get a good laugh too. Right before they called child services on us.

I attended a Mother's Day picnic with Thomas' class today at a local park. It was a little breezy and a little chilly but we endured. It's also all worth it when a group of four and five-year-olds pledge their love via song and with cards and handpainted flowerpots. The kids had also each answered some questions about their moms and his answers certainly make me feel loved. And also entertained.

And, of course I'm the "bestest one" because I'm not the one that supplies beer to minors.

I am what I am

2010-05-04T21:33:00.003-05:00

I'm an admitted consumer. I'm not terribly proud of that but I am also not totally ashamed by it either. I believe my consumerism to be somewhat in check since most of my wardrobe hails from either Target or Old Navy and my home is furnished primarily with family heirlooms - some more heirloomy than others, if you know what I mean.

The obvious hurdles to overcome in being a successful consumer are the ability to purge things you're no longer using and to finance new purchases. Having hit a crossroads this winter where our storage room is completely maxed out in its storage capacity and the items on the wish list are a little more substantial than a new pair of flip-flops, I've decided it's time to hold the dreaded garage sale. I've put this off for years but I think it's a workable solution to freeing up some space around here while offering some gently used items to others who might like a good bargain and also, hopefully, generating a little cash-ola. I'm thinking this is a really good, environmentally-friendly win-win for me and my potential shoppers.

I've set a date and have enlisted help from my mom, who is a garage-sale hosting veteran. Because our location is not terribly conducive to cars parking on the street I thought I would mention to our neighbors - the ones most inconvenienced by the traffic disaster I will hopefully create - my plan, as a neighborly heads up. I also mentioned that if they had any interest in a garage sale of their own perhaps we could coordinate our efforts. That was really a sidenote to my message, but just a thought.

This afternoon I found my mailbox full of mail, but most of it belonged to the aforementioned neighbor. When the boys and I went to deliver it she told me that she had received my message and thanked me for letting her know but assured me that they wouldn't be interested in having a sale that day. I reiterated that I just wanted to make them aware of my plans from a parking perspective and was ready to walk away. That's when she said it, with more than a hint of judgment.

"Thanks for notifying us, but we would never have a sale here because...well...we're just really not garage sale people."

Oh. I see how it is. I apparently am "garage sale people." I think she thought I might be dissuaded and that I might look at her differently after that position statement.

Let me assure you. I'm not and I do. So, come mid-May, the neighbors should be prepared for the Hondos to drag every last piece of junk we have right out onto the driveway. I'm thinking that the directional signs will be in neon colors and maybe we'll get Andrew out there on a loudspeaker to auction off the double stroller. Then she'll see exactly what "garage sale people" look like.

This should be fun.

Public Service Announcement

2010-04-25T14:26:00.001-05:00

If you're anything like me, you read things like this and think to yourself, "Oh, that's nice. I'll try to remember that." I urge you to write this down. You will not remember it in the heat of the moment. Save this information someplace safe where you will be able to quickly retrieve it.

It could save a load of laundry.

It's ironic that on a gray, rainy, drab Sunday afternoon we opened the dryer to find a load of clothes that had shared their bath and subsequent blow dry with three crayons. Red, blue and yellow. We had the primaries covered and everything in the load was covered too.

Murphy's Law was, of course, in effect and the load contained my favorite-ist jeans - ones that I spent too much money on and would never replace - as well as Andrew's brand new khaki shorts, Thomas' favorite fleece jacket and most of Mark's work jeans and a whole host of other now newly spot-colored items.

This recipe for rewashing has *mostly* saved our wardrobes...

Hot water
Your regular amount of your regular liquid detergent
1/2 c. Borax
1/2 c. Baking Soda
1/2 c. Shout stain liquid
a generous squirt of regular Dawn dishwashing soap.

I found this recipe online while searching frantically for a method of removal that wouldn't require me to treat each spot with WD40. I wouldn't say that it was 100% at stain removal but, my word, it's a significant improvement. Someday, should you ever be faced with a similar laundry disaster, you'll wish you had saved this info. Your favorite jeans will thank you!

Let's go fly a kite

2010-04-21T22:29:00.000-05:00

While I still haven't written about it or downloaded the photos, Thomas had a lovely 4th birthday celebration several weeks ago. At one of his parties - the one with cupcakes and classmates literally bouncing off the walls - he received a kite as a gift.

This kite really captured Thomas' interest and he asked almost daily about the possibility of flying it. I explained, almost daily, that the weather had to be just right and we needed some time to devote to the project. He had patiently endured that answer several times but dared to ask again a couple of Friday afternoons ago. My almost immediate reaction was the same as the days preceding. I began to hear the voice in my head that streams a list of things I should accomplish at any given moment and then that voice started to seep out of my mouth, almost against my will, explaining why we just didn't have time right then.

"Grandpa Butch is out on the deck waiting to see you and we need to feed the dog and get dinner started and check the mail and it's pretty windy..."

And then I reconsidered.

It was a warm, gusty Friday afternoon. If not now, when? The look on his face when I told him to go back to the garage and get the kite was almost one of disbelief. I realized that I had told him no enough times that he had perhaps, in his barely four-year-old reasoning, come to think that maybe we weren't ever really going to fly it. He reappeared on the deck seconds later, fingers itching to tear into the plastic packaging. He could hardly wait to show Grandpa Butch his treasure and he explained with his animated Thomas hand gestures that we were going to fly it HIGH.

We quickly got it assembled and confirmed that while it's a cute kite, it's not a built-to-last kite. It's one of those toys that smart merchandisers place strategically on hanging displays in grocery store aisles, specifically to grab the attention of children who are about three-feet tall. Those toys are always entertaining but are also always disposable. Butch and I both explained that it was kind of flimsy and we needed to be careful with it. I was trying to manage expectations because I had my doubts about the ability of a kite-shaped trash bag, held taught with plastic coffee stirrers, to fly.

Thomas was undeterred; he was elated. His elation drew the interest of his brother who decided to come check out what we were doing. At first we tried to fly it from the deck but figured out that the gusting wind wasn't going to cooperate that close to the house so we all trooped into the yard. The first attempt was a total bust. Not only was it not airborne, but it had lost a tail streamer. My hope was fading but Butch untangled Thomas from the streamer and we got it reattached. After a few more tries and some very clear directions from Butch, we got it off the ground. Success! Butch and I were both a little surprised and we were all excited.

All of us except Andrew.

As I struggled to let out more string from the flimsy spool, and the kite soared higher, Andrew became increasingly hysterical. What started as faint complaining from him cautioning me not to let it go too high escalated like wild fire to complete pleading with tears. He was beside himself with fear that I didn't know what I was doing. Butch tried to reassure him that it was fine but that didn't even put a dent in his hysteria. I tried, as I also tried to manage the kite, to convince him that it wasn't too high and that, with Butch's help, I knew what I was doing. He was not convinced. He was screaming and begging for me to bring the kite safely back to the ground.

As I wrestled a bit to keep the kite out of the trees and in the air, I realized that he wasn't really worried that the kite was too high or the string too long. He was really worried that the string would break and the kite would fly away. I was simultaneously trying to prove him wrong, comfort him and realizing that his fear was a distinct possibility. He eventually ran inside, and even after Butch came in to try and talk him down, refused to come out of the house while the kite was in the air. He had decided he would rather miss out entirely on the experience than risk watching it go bad. He couldn't cope with the risk inherenet in flying a $3.99 kite on a windy spring day.

I was reminded in that moment that with young Andrew, I'm raising myself in so many ways. I'm afraid he's come quite naturally by that risk aversion, that need to know what's coming next, that inability to take a leap, that inability to just let the string go and see what happens.

"Grandpa Butch is out on the deck waiting to see you and we need to feed the dog and get dinner started and check the mail and it's pretty windy..."

Predictably, while Thomas had been so very excited by everything about the kite and the process of flying it, he began to question our plan once Andrew expressed such vehement doubt. We eventually brought the kite safely back to ground, but not until after it had taken two adults to navigate it out of the trees in which it had become tangled and not until Thomas was, at his brother's urging, now also begging me to bring it back to the ground. We put it back in its handy ziploc carrying case and it's hanging safely in the garage - right where Andrew likes it.

I've thought about this incident a dozen times since it happened and it bothers me a little more each time. It bothers me that Andrew went from zero to sixty in his panic and wasn't able to calm himself down. It bothers me that Thomas picked up on his terror and, before it was over, was having doubts about something about which he had been so excited. It bothers me that I couldn't talk Andrew down once he was on the edge. It bothers me that something that should have been fun was in some way traumatizing. And? It bothers me that he learned it all from me. Apparently risk aversion is either genetic or, more likely, a virus that you can spread unknowingly to others in close proximity.

"Grandpa Butch is out on the deck waiting to see you and we need to feed the dog and get dinner started and check the mail and it's pretty windy..."

It's been a somewhat trying spring here and in light of that, I've been making a conscious effort in recent weeks to chip away at my New Year's resolutions. I think they were sound goals for me. But, as I reread them the other day it occured to me that while they don't spell it out, they all tiptoe around a desire to loosen my grip on the day-to-day just a bit.

That kite is cool hanging in its bag, all neatly folded. It's full of promise there, but it looked much cooler soaring 75 feet in the air. Flying it was a calculated risk and there probably was a better than zero chance that we were going to need to replace it afterwards, but it would have been worth it. It was worth $3.99 to watch Thomas' exhilaration and it was worth a slightly delayed dinner to see him hold the empty spool like he was holding a million dollars.

I'm sorry Andrew missed it. I'm sorry I haven't taught him that sometimes it's possible to hold onto people and experiences by just letting go.

The good news is that we have a chance to vaccinate ourselves around here - a little hair of the dog, if you will - and try to rally our defenses against the virus. We still have the kite and we're going to give it another whirl.

You might be a mom of boys if...

2010-04-15T13:52:00.000-05:00

Mark has recently taken a very atypical interest, for him, in a show called Blue Collar Comedy Hour. (I'm sure he'll love that I'm sharing that. I of course never watch it...) It features four comedians, two of whom I already knew of and two I hadn't ever heard. In honor of our new favorite show I present this week's list of "You might be a mom of boys if..."

1. You might be a mom of two boys if, before 8 a.m., you have fished a complete set of pajamas out of a toilet. Said toilet hadn't been flushed.

2. You might be a mom of two boys if, before 8:15 a.m., you have had to ask a child to please remove his shorts he so skillfully put on by himself and put on underwear FIRST.

3. You might be a mom of two boys if, before 8:30 a.m. you have had to embark on an all out search of the house to find a butterfly net. Said butterfly net will be used, and I quote, "for catching frogs and squids" on a nature walk with Grandma after school.

4. You might be a mom of two boys if, while driving to lunch, you opt to pull your car over in a parking lot to remove the large truck constructed of Legos that's rolling around in the floorboard, rather than continue to risk it rolling right under the break pedal.

5. You might be a mom of two boys if, before you've left the house for the day one of your children is already asking if he has to take a shower tonight. This would be the same small boy who plans to catch squid with his butterfly net this afternoon.

We're a virtual Blue Collar Comedy Hour in our own right.

Grace in small things

2010-04-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

It feels like it's time for a Grace In Small Things Post.

A southerly breeze and warm sun is good for the soul. It's also good for getting kids outside so they're TIRED at bedtime!
I have a beautiful bouquet of bright yellow flowers in my kitchen that have been here a week and just seem to keep on keeping on. I give them a drink and trim their tired stems each morning and they're rewarding me for that effort with longevity. They're a good reminder to take things one day at a time.
Grandpa Butch is here and it's nice to have an extra adult around the house - especially one that prepares meals and cleans. Thank you!
I took a step toward fulfilling a New Year's Resolution today and we attended church on a Sunday other than Easter or Christmas Eve. It was good thing.
Andrew told me tonight I was his favorite person, and he didn't say it just to get something out of me. He stated it as a fact. We all need to hear that we're on someone's favorite people list once in a while. I assured him he was one of mine as well and it made him smile that great big jack-o-lantern grin.

Hoping you all find grace in small things this week!

Food for thought...

2010-04-06T18:59:00.000-05:00

This is perhaps old news to everyone but me. I find it intriguing and think you might too.

A short sequel

2010-03-30T21:37:00.000-05:00

I owe a birthday post since we now live with a four-year-old, but have neither the pictures uploaded nor the energy tonight to recap T's big birthday adventure. Tonight's birthday update will be simply that we managed, in one Sunday afternoon, to unknowingly expose about two dozen kids to strep throat since Andrew was on the couch with a 102 fever just a few hours after returning from Thomas' festivities at the local gymnastics academy. That, my friends, is how sickness spreads like wildfire.

In the meantime I'll post a short follow-up to my last Outtakes post.

We celebrated Great Grandma Sarah's 89th birthday tonight and at dinner Andrew announced that he had a factoid to share. Once he had our attention he informed us that if you cook peanut butter for long enough it will turn into a diamond. When asked where he heard that he said that it had to be right because he read it in a book at school entitled, "Weird But True."

There you have it. Get to baking.

Outtakes

2010-03-22T12:33:00.001-05:00

Well, well, well. What a weekend we've all enjoyed. What's not to enjoy about snow and a Jayhawk loss? It's good times here in the land of Hondo. Fortunately our built-in entertainment persists...

+++++++++++++

While eating dinner on Friday evening we were discussing our middle names, which is still a somewhat confusing concept for Thomas. Andrew was trying to explain it to him in a patronizing tone he has perfected...

Andrew: Thomas, your middle name is Luke.

Thomas: No, my name is Thomas.

Andrew: Your first name is Thomas. Your middle name is Luke. You know how you can remember that? It's like Luken Logs.

Thomas: [looking confused]

Me: Do you mean Lincoln Logs?

Andrew: Oh. Yes. Never mind.

+++++++++++++

As we were leaving the Kansas City Zoo on Friday afternoon the cold front of the century was blowing through town, dropping the temperature 20 degrees in a matter of minutes. I was carrying Thomas and running, trying to get to the car as quickly as possible. He was squirming around, insisting I stop...

Thomas: Mommy, stop PLEASE, I really want to see that bus.

Me: It's just a bus, Thomas, let's look as we run.

Thomas: No, it's not a regular bus. It has an upstairs. It's a double dipper bus.

++++++++++++

Yesterday afternoon, after not getting dressed until noon and not having left the house at 4 p.m., I suggested the kids get bundled up to play in our rapidly melting, hopefully last of the season, snow. They agreed it was a good idea and only had to take a bathroom break each while dressed in full snow gear. Victory!

After about 30 minutes outside Andrew asked if I would get a rope and the sled so he could pull Thomas like a sled dog. That seemed like a good idea until Mark busted them heading up the deck stairs, sled in hand, to get a running start into the yard. Someone call Mensa.

A send-off and salute

2010-03-16T15:58:00.002-05:00

Spring Break is in effect for the one of us lucky enough to attend elementary school. Until last Friday I was feeling badly that Andrew wasn't going to have the kind of Spring Break I remember from my youth; either on a beach or just lounging at home doing nothing productive and enjoying the life of the sloth. That all changed when the message came home outlining this week's planned activities at his home away from his other school, aka home-away-from-home. We'll call it Spring Break Day Camp because this is certainly not simple daycare. We're pretty lucky.

Things began with swimming at the Indoor Aquatic Center yesterday. It's difficult for parents to compete with the college students serving as tour guides for the week. I know I'm not as fun as teacher Jimmy, a college student who apparently really wowed the kids with his diving and bellyflopping prowess at the pool. And, I know I'm not as fun as Chavis who guided them through a rigorous round of sign-making and then took them to the Fieldhouse today to help send the 'Hawks off to OKC for a little something we call basketball.

Think they're having fun?

This afternoon they'll stage their own basketball tournament back at school, and tomorrow? Tomorrow they will be in the annual St. Patrick's Day parade downtown. I could have taken the afternoon off work so he could see the parade but I have no strings to pull to allow him to ride in the parade. I've been trumped.

Bowling and the Natural History Museum will round out the week. Next year I'm going to take the week off work. And then see if I can attend Spring Break Day Camp too.

Free therapy

2010-03-11T20:45:00.002-06:00

I'm here to admit, and document, that I’ve been kind of in the weeds this week.The record books will report that the temps are warming and spring might actually arrive. Yet, for some reason, I've been in a mood.

Andrew is excited about his upcoming Spring Break and I find myself focused on how expensive the extra days of care are and wondering how come I don’t get a Spring Break. We have a gorgeous refrigerator, that you might recall I’m quite literally in love with, yet I can only gritch about the non-functioning water dispenser and how I hate Whirlpool and the man who came to deliver the bad news. The hours of daylight are growing and all I can think of is how there is still too much laundry to wash and too many meetings to attend and too many groceries to procure and not enough hours to get it all done.

I'm not proud of any of this…just aware. I have been a real ray of sunshine, I tell you.

Today ushered in another dark and drizzly sky, which is so good for our trees and about-to-emerge daffodils but not so good for my funk. I found myself driving the boys to school complaining about the rain and the fact that it was colder today than yesterday, which seems like an unfair backwards slide. I was pretty much just stewing in my own self-concocted miserableness.

As I drove to work, already dreading things that hadn't yet happened, I was about halfway to my destination when I pulled up behind a yellow Volkswagen Beetle. I did a double take and then said, out loud, "Skittles Slugbug." I was that person clearly talking to myself at a stoplight.

We began playing the Slugbug game many moons ago, calling it out whenever one of us sees a VW bug. For obvious reasons we had to cut out the part of the game where we actually slug a fellow passenger, but the boys still like to be the first one to call it. Then, a few months ago, some friends were riding in the car with us and taught the boys the Skittles game where you call out "Skittles!" each time you encounter a yellow car. The boys asked if we could do that and I encouraged it, because, really. How often do you see yellow cars?

ALL THE FREAKING TIME, it turns out. Mark and I quickly tired of the Skittles game but there was no going back. We now just have to grit our teeth and ignore the cacophony of shouts that come each and every time we cross paths with any car of the yellow persuasion and the accompanying fight about who saw it first.

So there I am, alone in my car, calling out Skittles Slugbug!, and smiling about it, even though I'm in a mood. The light turned green and I proceeded through the intersection and around the corner toward my office. As I rounded the bend, a car pulled out in front of me. As quickly as I started to feel my blood pressure rise because this genius had pulled out in front of me, I realized the car was yellow and found myself SHOUTING "Skittles!" Then I laughed loudly, because what else do you do when you realize you're the crazy grumpy lady playing the Skittles game all by yourself.

I pulled into the parking garage at work and headed to my usual spot on the third floor, passing not one, but two yellow cars on the way up the ramps. Feeling as though I might be on Candid Camera, I had no choice but to continue laughing. Someone was throwing yellow cars in my path to entertain me. And you know what? It was working. I found myself thinking that yellow cars are pretty cheery looking.

It continued to rain all day and the sky got darker rather than lighter. I am still, admittedly, a little less than cheery. But, the refrigerator appears to have healed itself for tonight and I'm thinking that a few more yellow cars thrown in my path just might do the trick. I'm going to have my eyes wide open tomorrow on the lookout. The moral of all this is to never underestimate the restorative powers of looking at the world through the eyes of two small boys and to never, ever underestimate how good it can feel to be that person yelling to no one in particular as you navigate the morning commute.

Seeking loans

2010-03-03T18:18:00.001-06:00

This tooth fairy is going to need to take out a loan. It has been a busy week in the exchange-money-for-tooth business.

We might also need speech therapy because there's a good bit of lisping going on tonight. This very biased mother thinks he looks adorable.

The toothless wonder

2010-02-24T21:09:00.000-06:00

It hadn't been brushed for a solid 10 days and it had been hanging at a precarious angle since last Thursday. And by precarious I mean awkward and unappealing. He wouldn't let me touch it and he wasn't interested in even discussing removing it himself.

That's why it's such a good thing that he's a rambunctious kind of guy who became involved in some sort of mock speed skating event at school that knocked that puppy clean out of his mouth yesterday.

He told me that he feels more grown up with it gone and that he'll be a man once he loses all of them. My heart can hardly handle the thought but this is pretty cute:

Chicken of the Sea, or something like that

2010-02-17T19:05:00.001-06:00

This afternoon on our drive home I asked Thomas what he had eaten for lunch. I ask this question each day, sometimes out of curiosity and sometimes to find out what not to serve for dinner. Usually neither boy can remember.

Today Thomas remembered immediately that he had three glasses of milk. Hmmm.

Me: What else?

T: Well, Sarah cooked those disgusting sticks.

Me: Oh, fish sticks?

T: Yes. It was disgusting.

Me: Do you know that fish sticks are really kind of like chicken nuggets?

T: Have you ever had a fish stick?

Me: Yes. I used to like them when I was little.

T: Well, they are nothing like chicken nuggets.

Me: Well, they're both breaded and you can dip them both in ketchup.

T: Well, fish sticks do NOT have chicken inside of them. Actually, what's inside of them is kind of like chicken but it has little bits of something different in it. They are crunchy on the outside like nuggets but on the inside they have something that is the same color as chicken and is good with ketchup but it has little itty-bitty pieces of that stuff that's just like chicken and it doesn't really taste like chicken even though it really does kind of look like it. Do you know I am talking about, mommy, those sticks have that stuff inside of them that's not at all like chicken?

Me: Yes. It's fish.

T: Oh.

Me: So, you didn't eat them?

T: Oh, yes. I ate them.

Oy.

Roses and thorns

2010-02-04T21:20:00.008-06:00

I read a synopsis today of an interview with Michelle Obama, in which she tells that each evening she and the President and their daughters go around their dinner table and list their "roses" and "thorns" of the day. She believes it helps them stay connected and grounded. Always in need of a good grounding, I'm borrowing the concept. I present my personal roses and thorns from our recent journey to sunny Southern California to visit the Hendersons and Tuckers.

ROSES in no particular order...

Sunny Southern California. Kansas has many shining attributes and they even sometimes include the weather. However, this winter is only half-over and I'm so over it. I liked sunny and 65.
Our boys traveled like A+ champs.

The ability of Zac and Andrew to walk away from each other when they need to and then eventally compromise and come back together for another round.

Tenderloin. A rosemary-seasoned beef tenderloin paired with a glass of Corbett Canyon, lemon bars and great company and conversation is a good start to any vacation.
Thomas and Claire emerging from her room dressed as princesses. They both even had princess cell phones. After their first lap for their adoring public, Claire pushed Thomas back to their lair in a ~~doll stroller~~ coach. We didn't see them again for 25 minutes.

Thomas and Claire emerging dressed as a Swamp Monster and Spiderman, complete with growling so real that it terrified the unflappable baby Luke.

A rare opportunity for just our little Henderson family to dine with just Butch. Andrew commented to me later that we don't do that often and he liked it. I concur.
Free wi-fi at Disneyland so Mark and Eric could tolerate the wait to meet the princesses.

Disneyland. It might truly be the happiest place on earth. They know how to do it right and somehow we did too, through a combination of sheer luck and good advice from my sister-in-law's sister-in-law. We encountered short lines, pleasant people and an amazing knack for being in the right place at the right time for 12 hours. What a magical day.

A well-timed beer. When the chips are down and there are six kids and four adults hiding out in one house, sometimes a mid-afternoon beer just can't be beat.
Our first shotput. The boys and I received a track and field lesson at Claremont High School. Who knew that it would be so entertaining for everyone involved.

Mickey Mouse. Our boys looked for him all day at Disney and just as we were departing the park, we walked out of a store and there he was, as if he was looking for us too. He even tried to pose with the sleeping T.

H&M. Enough said. Why, oh why, won't they open one in Kansas City?
Watching Claire express her personal fashion statement at Children's Place. Patchwork newsboy hats DO go with tie-dye leggings. You just wait - the runways will be brimming with it.
Top-your-own yogurt. This is a great concept and it's not unique anymore but still is lots of fun. When Yogurtland happens to be located adjacent to an outdoor plaza and water feature it's even better.

Winning over a baby. I love nine-month olds.
Having two boys literally fall into bed half-asleep at night after full days of more fun than they could imagine.
Mark's ability to sleep anywhere. Even on Small World as the speakers blare that endless song in twenty different languages.

The fact that the word poop is just as funny to kids in California as it is to kids in Kansas.
A grown-up sushi dinner followed by coffee and dessert with three of my favorite people. As someone who grew up without brothers I've definitely won the brother-in-law lottery twice over. And, as someone who grew up with a sister she loves an awful lot, I've so lucked out by gaining a sister-in-law I think is just as great and would choose as a friend every day of the week.
Snow White. She allowed our sweet Thomas to kiss her in the Princess Walk. It was like slow-motion as he bucked the peer pressure of his brother and Zac to join Claire in meeting these beautiful ladies.

Watching Grandpa Butch stand between me and my kids as I headed outside to chew them up for pouring sand all over his patio. He's a softy.
Our niece and nephew bringing down the house at the Toon Town Roller Coaster with their expletives as we rolled back into the station.
Andrew putting on his game face, and forcing me into following suit, by riding every ride available to him at Disneyland even when he was completely terrified. My son helped me find my bravery.
The boys riding in Grandpa Butch's old Model A with huge smiles pasted on their faces.

Watching Luke attack the bathtub with great enthusiasm. The kid loves water and I can hardly wait to see him swim.
Savvy eleven-year-olds. What a treat to spend time with one who is polite and pleasant and so keenly observant.
Cousins. I grew up with lots of them and nary a one to really play with it seemed. There were a bunch a few years older - and much too cool for me and my sister - and a bunch a few years younger. They were fun but they were a clan and didn't need the intervention of the Schmidt girls who lived in cousin no-man-land. I love watching my kids enjoy their cousins and play for literally hours on end, loving one another's company.

And now,

THORNS in a very short list...

Sickness. It's no fun to be sick and no fun to watch someone else be sick. We missed RoRo time very much and hope that she'll come see us soon so we can make up for some of those lost days. We hope you're all feeling better.
Too much distance. We wish sunny Southern California weren't so very far away.

Someone named Kendall Hailey wrote, “The great gift of family life is to be intimately acquainted with people you might never even introduce yourself to, had life not done it for you."

I say, Amen to that rose.

p.s. for an even better recap, check this out...

It's funny

2010-01-25T21:52:00.001-06:00

You know the phrase about how if you weren't laughing you would cry? That.

It's a good thing that it's funny how my sister has been here for nearly two weeks and we've seen her and her kids nearly every day and yet I'm certain that we've been unable to complete more than possibly three sentences during that time. It's not that we don't want to talk, and it's not that we haven't had opportunity, it's that there are four kids and boy are they funny.

They're great kids. They are all - she writes with only a small amount of bias - smart, verbal, entertaining, engaging kids. The three oldest boys are all inquisitive and gregarious and loving. They're just inquisitve, gregarious and loving in three different ways, which pretty much sums up why we haven't been able to speak in complete thoughts.

Natalie is a living doll. She's happy, smiley, curious and beautiful. She entertains herself but will readily let you join in her games. Her squeals, growls, tongue rolls and shrieks are a hoot and she loves her some Uncle Mark and Grandpa. She's also taking notes.

Andrew is, as someone pointed out, twice as old as the small boys and he has moments of being able to rise above and use his maturity as a helper. He has begun setting the dinner table with great pride and has learned to use a steak knife this week. He has shown glimmers of truly serving as a role model. And then there have been those other funny times when he's entered a room where smaller boys were playing and completely disrupted every molecule in the space, leaving tears and screaming in his wake. He has taught new words that no one wanted their three-year-old to learn and he has puppet-mastered his cousin whenever the opportunity was presented.

Thomas is, well, kind of like a stranger to me in his cousins' presence. I say that without a trace of pride. He has had moments of trying to do the right thing and trying to be flexible, but mostly he has shoved and spit and pushed buttons for two solid weeks now. My cuddly, gentle, loving boy has rejected his cousin's best attempts at affection and has found a new volume in his voice that we could probably do without. I'm sure my sister and her kids could as well. He has purposely upset to test reactions and has dutifully repeated his brother's vocabulary lessons.

Wyatt, my nephew, has tried. He gives freely with hugs and kisses - trying time and again, even after Thomas tells him NOTHANKYOU. He asks politely for people to play soccer/football/basketball/tackle basketball/croquet with him and isn't deterred by the first "no." He also has done his part to perfect Thomas' button pushing by dutifully screaming whenever Thomas goes looking for a reaction. He has tried out his new words, taught by Andrew, on his mom and laughed gleefully as Andrew coached him through how to totally unravel Thomas.

There has been a fair amount of screaming and a fair amount of tattling and a fair amount of tears. Funny, right? It will be in retrospect, because there's also been this:

Thomas playing gently with Natalie on the living room floor for 20 minutes at a stretch, without prompting.

All three boys pretending the playset in our backyard was a ship where each of them had an assignment that required them to work in tandem, for nearly an hour on a cold Saturday morning.

Wyatt asking Andrew for a high-five, after being told by his mom that there should be no more kissing, and having Andrew respond voluntarily with a hug instead.

The boys dressed in their khakis and sweaters for Sunday brunch and all sitting quietly at the table, showing us that they are capable of white tablecloth manners.

Voluntary sharing of bike helmets, na-nas, stickers and football helmets - the ultimate concession.

Cheering for one another's bowling successes and cooperation in building snow forts.

I have decided it's important to record ALL of this because I think it will help me remember the moments in between the screaming, when they were all giggling together. And, because someday, when they are capable of more extended periods of friendship, we'll want to remind them of how funny they were when they were little and how we wanted to cry but they were so we chose to laugh instead.

Also, when Natalie is in charge of the whole lot of them and they're all doing whatever she tells them, we'll want her to have this story as ammunition.

That's love

2010-01-17T20:47:00.000-06:00

My sister is visiting right now with her two children. We're all enjoying lots of good together time, lots of good food and the cousins are having a big time. Eventually I'll get around to posting more but for now, well, I'm exhausted.

The kids all get along amazingly well considering their ages and the general family dynamics already at play between my two. In fact, they play so well that between three boys and a baby, the volume is generally fairly high. I think, however, most of us have become somewhat immune. Most of us except Great Grandma. Today she informed us that she has decided to leave her hearing aids at home when she's coming to where all the small people are playing. She announced that after the ruckus on Friday night she just doesn't feel like she needs to hear them any better.

Things you will NOT hear me say today

2010-01-10T20:19:00.002-06:00

1. Gosh, 22 degrees feels warm.

2. That was a great game.

3. I am a very good and effective parent between the hours of midnight and 6 a.m.

4. I'm so glad tomorrow's Monday.

5. It makes me proud when you ask your brother whether he "just rolled into town on the stupid train?"

How we roll

2010-01-04T19:34:00.003-06:00

We've had a little snow here in the last few days. OK, kind of a lot of snow. And it's kind of cold. The good news is that we've had fun sledding as a family - apparently Mark and I sledding together in one plastic toboggan was entertaining for all involved - and the boys have left tracks in every corner of the yard. Eventually, however, it's time to just hunker down and entertain ourselves indoors where it's warm. Good thing we live with these two.

It's a little long but there just wasn't a logical edit point before I ended it. However, if you're inclined to skip forward please do check out the 1:19 mark, where for some inexplicable reason Thomas decides he needs more leverage.

Right after this filming, Mark demonstrated his ability to do a handstand. There's more cold in the forecast so we're considering adding that to the act later this week. Stay tuned.

Resolved

2010-01-01T21:55:00.002-06:00

I was a debate student in high school, albeit not a particularly good one. I think my research was good, but my actual debate season took a nosedive when my partner had a panic attack during our first real round. From then on I was basically partnerless and debated only a handful of times with random other people in my class at our teacher's discretion because he wouldn't put Ms. Anxiety back on the stand. I think a mental health professional had probably advised against it.

In any event, in debate there is an annual resolution. It's a statement that one team affirms and the other tries to negate. It's up for discussion but it's not some crazy statement that someone could prove wrong, per se. Kind of like New Year's Resolutions. There's no right or wrong, I hope, but more just differing ways of approaching them. I had the pleasure of talking with someone at Thanksgiving Dinner this year who suggested that New Year's Resolutions were important, and that we should all have them, but that they shouldn't be punitive. I like that. She also suggested that they shouldn't really be truly measurable. She's an economist for the Federal Reserve Bank so if she says so...

With that I present my New Year's Resolutions.

Less time in front of a computer - it can't be avoided at work but it can be at home.
More time in the moment - I have a feeling that #1 will help with that at home.
More time in pajamas - we've gotten a jump start on this in the last week. I think it's good.
Good wine, good coffee, good food - if we're gonna do it, let's do it right.
More flexibility - this incorporates yoga and general spontaneity.
Less "no" without cause - mostly with my kids but probably just in general.
More thoughtful action for our earth - I have lovely reusable grocery bags. I should use them, as a start.
Less waiting for someone else to fix things for me - whether it's hanging a picture or figuring out how to get from figurative point A to point B in life.
More time in a church sanctuary - this should be easy to achieve.
More time with people who are really important to me and who like me for who I am and vice versa.
Less time with people who aren't and don't.
More pedicures.
Less complaining - either fix it or love it as it is.
More action - or, more specifically, less inaction.

So, we have that to look forward to in 2010. Resolved.

We ushered this year in with friends and their kids. It involved some wine, some whining, lots of running, good conversation and some party hats and sparkly leis. We were all asleep before midnight, gaining a jump start on the new year. Madeline didn't get to go to the party so Andrew brought it to her.

Happy New Year!

About last night

2009-12-21T21:11:00.004-06:00

So, we spent last night in the ER. That was not a really good way to spend a Sunday evening and I would heartily recommend against it. I would also heartily recommend against letting your three-year-old fall out of his chair at the dinner table and land flat on his back, with the back of his head against tile as the first point of contact. Not good.

Your first sign that you're headed to the ER in such a situation is said child NOT crying immediately upon hitting the floor. Your next sign is that when said child does start crying it's more a blood-curdling, slobbery scream and he's telling you in no uncertain terms that he would like for his forehead to stop hurting because, as the screaming would suggest, it's hurting a lot. The next signs came more slowly, over the next 20 minutes, but included the child begging to go to bed, acting as if he would now be vomiting and refusing to talk to us. And then he started talking and it was kind of disturbing and not quite right. That's when we called Grandma and asked her to please drop everything and come be with Andrew. (Grandma rocks, by the way. Not only did she drop everything to come over but she also cleaned up our entire dinner mess which was uneaten and all over the kitchen, making it possible for us to drag it out tonight and try again.)

The good news is that after a few hours in the local ER and a physician-endorsed catnap, he began to come around and we were eventually sent home with instructions on caring for a child with a concussion. I'm thinking that I'll probably not be winning my mother of the year award now, since my son has a bruised brain and all. If there can be a silver lining to a sucky accident it is that he wasn't horsing around when it happened, he wasn't dancing on the table or doing something else he shouldn't have been and I was in the room but just not fast enough. Bad circumstances.

The other good news is that he has been willing to take it easy today and his balance seems to be more up-to-par this evening. He also had the energy to help his brother with this project tonight...

These all started out under the tree. They're now in the living room but they were calling themselves the Christmas elves so how do you put an end to that activity?

Also, right before bed, he had the energy - when asked to please stop crying because something hadn't gone his way - to say the following to me with a very serious look on his face. "Mommy, I cannot stop crying because every time you do something wrong, it makes me cry."

Definitely back to normal.

FAN-tastic!

2009-12-16T19:52:00.003-06:00

This evening, while discussing a trip to California to visit family, Thomas became very excited and announced that he would very much like to go visit Butch & RoRo's house because, and I quote, he remembers how much fun it was. I asked him what exactly was so fun and he replied quickly and confidently.

"When we visit California, I get up VERY early with daddy and I pull the little red wagon around on RoRo's brown floor and it's VERY loud and I get up VERY early there. I mean, like, REALLY early."

Yes, son, you do. So we have that working for us.

In your footsteps

2009-12-06T18:39:00.000-06:00

I wonder what it feels like to have a mini-me living in your home? Maybe Mark could shed some light on that for us. Consider Exhibit A:

He's as considerate as his daddy and as interested in the computer. Mark uses the headphones to ~~block us out~~ listen to online content while he's at the computer. Thomas did it while playing the Old McDonald game for, I suppose, exactly the same reasons.

The jig might be up

2009-11-28T22:51:00.003-06:00

After hearing rave reviews of kids driven to astoundingly good behavior because of it, I ordered the popular Elf on the Shelf book a couple of weeks ago. I know of several kids who seriously clean up their acts when reminded that the Elf is watching and also, it just seems like a fun family tradition.

The basic premise is a book that tells the story of an Elf who serves as Santa's helper. In the book, readers learn that the Elf comes to their house each morning to check on their holiday behavior and then reports to Santa on the household happenings, presumably to help Santa during his busy season as he keeps his naughty and nice lists. The fun is that the Elf is supposed to reappear in a different place within the home each morning, giving the youngest residents a reason to keep a look out for him. The book comes with a small stuffed elf that is yours to name and impress.

The boys and I opened ours last night and read the book, dutifully keeping the Elf in his clear case at the back of the book, as the story instructs you not to touch the Elf because touching him could prevent him from making his flight to the North Pole to report about your great choices. The book also instructs you to name your Elf, which the boys did unanimously and without hesitation. Wait for it...Scott.

After the boys were in bed last night I intended to go up, free Scott from his case, and find a suitable locale for his first day in our home. I planned to make it someplace obvious to ease us into the habit of looking for him. I was partly excited about this because I can envision years down the road, long after anyone is actually concerned that the Elf is watching, still having a fun game and tradition where we continue to hide the Elf, but obscurity of hiding location is what makes it fun. (Just go with me here. My boys are getting so big. I have to believe that they'll humor me if I bribe them as they grow.)

Instead, I ended up lying down in Thomas' room because the poor child just couldn't stop coughing. Predictably, I fell asleep and woke up at 3 a.m., when I stumbled downstairs in a daze. I slept soundly until 7 a.m., when Thomas appeared by my bedside asking, "Where's the Elf? I looked and I can't find him anywhere."

Crap.

I played it off and assured him that the Elf must be around somewhere. A bit later, his brother appeared. He was also asking about the Elf. He, however, had already looked in the box and discovered that our new friend, Scott, was still safely strapped in his holding chamber.

Double crap.

I did a little of my finest tap dancing and they moved on with their Saturday. Late this afternoon when they were outside I ran upstairs and ripped that little Scott from his twist-tie prison and placed him squarely on the shelves in front of where we read bedtime books. Subtle, right?

When bedtime rolled around we sat down for books and for several minutes no one noticed the little red-suited creature staring at us from across the room. Finally Andrew spotted him and was full. of. questions. He was just positive that Scott had not been there earlier, despite my trying to convince him that he just hadn't noticed him there until now. After some conversation we went on with the book we had selected but I noticed that Andrew just wasn't paying attention. He was busy staring cautiously back at Scott.

After books I took Thomas to his room and in his sleepy fog he told me he was going to get up earlier than Andrew so he could be sure to find Scott first. While enticing him to make wake-up time a competition wasn't in the plan, I was thrilled he had listened to the story and was ready to play along. As I was finishing up with Thomas, Andrew stuck his head in and said, "Mommy, when you come into my room I have some questions for you. You need to get ready for a serious discussion."

NO.

I took a deep breath before entering his room and psyched myself up for what I was sure was going to be an inquisition about the jolly man in the red suit. I was basically sweating and wondering, aloud, why I'm always the one who does bedtime. I was also berating myself for having dragged us all downtown last night to see Santa be rescued off the roof of a local department store by the fire department. He had seemed to be so engaged but now I was doubting whether his interest had been sincere.

When I sat down on his bed, he looked up at me with the biggest blue eyes he could muster and said, "Mommy, we need to talk about that Elf." I asked him what he wanted to talk about and he said, "He's really freaking me out."

Hmmm. That's not quite where I thought this was going.

I asked what about Scott freaked him out and he said, "Well, I'm just thinking about this and there's no really no way that he moved out of that box by himself. I think a person did that and I'm worried how that person would get in our house and whether they're still here." For a split second I thought he was about to call me out but then those big eyes started to well up with tears and I realized he was just truly scared.

I assured him that there wouldn't be any reason to worry about that and reminded him that the book told us Scott had magical powers so it was just fun and we needed to go with it. He nodded and tried to look brave. Then he said, "I'm also kind of worried that I'm not on the good list and that he's going to know it now."

Now who feels like a creep?

We had some conversation about having a good heart and about living your life in such a way that you're always sure that others would have a favorable impression of your character. He seemed to get all of that but was basically still terrified. He was terrorized by the notion of this little red felt Elf floating around our house at night and not believing for a minute that some stranger off the street wasn't coming in and messing with us. I sat there for a few minutes and tried to talk him off the ledge, but eventually realized that if I left his room tonight telling him not to worry about it, he would anyway and that any fun of having the Elf on our shelf was going to be lost in his cloud of confusion, doubt and analytics.

I finally just leaned down and asked him if he could keep a very important secret between me and him. He nodded, very seriously, that he could and pinky promised me. I went and got the Elf off the shelf and brought it into his room. Then I confessed that he was indeed correct in his thinking that an eight-inch tall skinny Elf with velcro on his hands and feet couldn't move on its own. And, I told him that I was the person who had moved it. He promised me, through tears of relief, that he would not tell Thomas and that he would still have fun looking for the Elf each morning. I think I believe him.

I'm left wondering how my inquisitive, left-brained child has gotten so big. I'm a little heartbroken for him - and for me - because this is obviously the first of many mythical creatures about whom he'll have questions, sooner rather than later. I'm also so proud of his logic and ability to reason and willingness to share his concern. And, I'm a little amused that my kid-of-much-bravado was terrified of a toy Elf.

So, tomorrow morning is the first test. I've moved the Elf to a location that will require them to look a little harder and I'm hoping he'll do the right thing. He still wants to be on the big man in red's good list so hopefully he'll choose to be a good brother and keep his pinky promise to me. In the meantime I'll be seriously hoping that that semi-loose front tooth of his stays put for another month. I don't know if I can handle the demise of the tooth fairy right now.

Giving thanks

2009-11-25T21:39:00.001-06:00

Here's hoping that your turkey tomorrow will be as wonderful as our turkeys...

I took this picture tonight of the boys sporting their Thanksgiving feast finery from school. When asked what they were thankful for, they provided all the right answers; friends, family, Madeline, Mrs. Bowman, our house, etc. Andrew also wanted me to know that he's thankful for our food, even when it's food that he doesn't like and I make him take a bite anyway. Thomas? He's also thankful for Christmas.

We've been reminded this fall that we should always be thankful for good health, and we are. We're also thankful for our wonderful friends, near and far. And, we're thankful for family that we would choose as friends. We're so very lucky.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Easy for you to say

2009-11-16T20:34:00.001-06:00

Out of the mouth of Thomas...comes some funny stuff. Today's favorites:

+++++++++

"I want to watch Briskercats, mommy." "Do you mean, Aristocats?" "Right. That's what I said. Briskercats."

+++++++++

"I don't want to wash with soap and water. Couldn't I just use hanitizer?"

+++++++++

While stalling at bedtime:
"So, mommy. After we put on jammies, can we go back downstairs and play?"
"No, Thomas."
"So, mommy. After we put on jammies, can we go back downstairs and play some more, please?"
"No, Thomas. Not tonight."
"But, mommy! After we put on jammies, can we go back downstairs?"
"No, Thomas. It's time for bed."
"BUT, YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!"
"I am listening Thomas. You just don't like my answer."
"So, mommy. Now can you stop listening and give me a different answer?"

A bad day defined

2009-11-13T09:20:00.000-06:00

This made me a few minutes late to work today. Of course, if I hadn't stopped to take pictures before I detoured, I could have shaved at least 90 seconds off my delay. But, really. How could I NOT have taken pictures of this?

This is a moving van that apparently went directly over the top of a roundabout down the street. Until today, there had been landscaping and a sign in the middle of this roundabout. I'm guessing the rose bushes aren't going to make it.

That's right. Moving van on concrete. I think this is known as being high-centered, no? Bummer, dude.

Discuss amongst yourselves

2009-11-12T19:17:00.000-06:00

Is this complete genius or completely big brother, creep you the heck out?

A frightfully good time

2009-11-04T19:02:00.001-06:00

It’s time for the obligatory Halloween photos and tales of another successful year of begging the neighbors for candy. Thankfully, the most haunting parts of our week were over by the time Saturday rolled around. (As previously mentioned, earlier in the week we were paid a visit by a virus that we’ll assume for my sanity was H1N1. If it wasn’t the swine bug then I’m sure we’ll get to repeat it all again at some point in coming months.)

Last Sunday was the school Halloween carnival and, sadly, Andrew was too sick to attend but Thomas and I went and bought two sets of tickets so we could win prizes for Andrew and prolong the wearing of the Spiderman costume. As you can tell from the pics, just having it on his person made him VERY, VERY serious. Crimefighting is not for sissies.

On Friday Andrew was well enough to return to school and enjoy not one but two parties with a costume parade at each of his schools. Regrettably, I have no photos of either of these in my possession because I haven’t received my Snapfish order yet, but he pronounced his skeleton costume “creepy” which was totally what he was going for this year. My baby is growing up.

For me, the highlight of Saturday was pumpkin carving. It was the first time that the anticipation of the activity hadn’t been more exciting than the actual gutting and cutting. We did something this year, however, that I had always disavowed. We carved pumpkins that were purchased at the grocery store. (Hangs head in shame.) I know, I know. Inexcusable. But, sometimes life just gets in the way.

Between perpetual rain, fevers and general unrest over the last week in our home, it just wasn’t in the cards to venture back to the pumpkin patch. Thomas and I had gone with his class and I thought we’d get back out with Andrew but alas, the only person it seemed to bother was me. The boys were thrilled with their ridiculously expensive, ridiculously large, ridiculously perfect pumpkins and we had a great time creating jack-o-lantern masterpieces.

Andrew did all of his own design work and most of his own carving, actually. (Don’t worry, grandmas. He wasn’t using a machete, he was well-supervised and still has nine fingers…)

After carving it was time for a quick visit to Great Grandma’s and then off to our friends’ for pizza and trick-or-treating. They were so anxious to get going that we sent them out to the trampoline to run off energy until it was time to hit the streets. I love this picture of Andrew, aka Mr. Bones, and our friend, Emily, aka Superwoman, as happy as kids should be.

Not to be outdone, Thomas and his buddy, Molly, spent a great deal of time on a glider, oblivious to the fact that Spiderman doesn't typically have time for such frivolity.

We returned home with more candy than any family needs but I guess that’s part of the drill. Thomas has discovered a previously untapped penchant for Reese’s peanut butter cups – that’s my boy! – and Andrew has learned he loves Laffy Taffy so we’ll call it a learning experience and just keep eating.